


There is thunder in our hearts

by Whenyourhairisalsoahood



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Accents, Alyssa Edwards is a Geordie, Class Differences, Collars, Dirty Talk, F/F, Face Slapping, Flogging, Leashes, Leather Kink, Lesbian Sex, Light BDSM, Minor Praise Kink, Paddling, Phone Sex, Service Submission, Verbal Humiliation, Watersports, british au, dom/sub dynamics, mild choking, saccharine moments, sub space, the hairy bikers, thuddy pain, welsh - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-04-06 16:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14061324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whenyourhairisalsoahood/pseuds/Whenyourhairisalsoahood
Summary: Six more minutes, and it's all over. Dave catches his breath, and thanks Trixie. He tells her that he’s alone in a hotel room, away with work, and it’s been nice to have some company. He confides that he has never been brave enough to try anything like that in the flesh, but that “Bryony” had really brought it to life.Trixie says that she’s never enjoyed a scene over the phone this much before, and that no other caller has ever made her this wet. It’s a lie, of course, but often it’s a lucrative one. Trixie drops her voice into a conspiratorial whisper and says that she really needs to come. She can fake an orgasm without even thinking about it, and it would keep him on the line for a while longer. But Dave sounds exhausted and doesn’t take the bait.Nevertheless, Trixie manages to draw the total length of the call out to almost 35 minutes. It’s going to be a good earner, potentially the best in weeks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The things I liked most about writing _I found a fox, caught by dogs_ were writing kink and writing dialect and class difference. So this is me just playing about with those ideas. Nothing wildly kinky in the first chapter, but we'll see :) 
> 
> Thanks to my former colleague, who taught me new and interesting ways to skive every day we were together. I will forever be slightly turned on, and very frightened, by you.
> 
> If you haven't already read [Both Hands Tied](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13983837/chapters/32196993) by Silvervelour, you should. It's fucking marvelous.
> 
> This takes place in London. I loved, loved, loved researching Boston for my other fic but I wanted to spend some time on home turf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language/Dialect notes  
> Butt - friend  
> Bendigedig - Fantastic  
> Nos da cariad - good night love

  


It’s 2:07pm by the little clock on her desk phone when Trixie gets back from lunch, which means that it is 14:00 exactly by the clock on the wall. Trixie left for her break at 1:00pm by the phone clock, 12:53 by the wall clock. When she leaves she tells her colleagues she’s using the phone clock for time keeping, but when she comes back she says that she’s always used the clock on the wall. It’s just one of the little habits she has, like making sure that she has one last piss before she punches out for the day, and never after.

She checks her email to see what the idiots that eat lunch at their desk have sent over while she’s been putting her feet up in the break-room. There’s one thing that needs to be actioned and she’ll do it in a minute now. Right after she’s gone over the tiny chip in the pink polish on her index finger.

Her nails are her pride and joy. They’re natural, each an inch and a half long. They’re buffed, filed and almost every time anyone looks at them, they ask her if they’re real. She brushes on two smooth stripes and is about to do the third stripe down the middle when a nervous laugh next to her desk startles her. The movement jogs the end of her brush and it leaves an unsightly line on her glossy nail. Trixie hates that.

“Trace? Tracey, is it?”

Trixie looks up. There’s a girl standing at the end of her desk. She must be a temp. Trixie hasn’t seen her before. She’s in a faux vintage flared dress in a whimsical print. A giraffe print, it looks like, with a cardigan buttoned up over it. The temps always wear shit like that, or dungarees, or a smock dress and jazzy shoes. Trixie hates them. She hates the fact that they don’t feel the need to conform, just because they’re not stranded in this shithole indefinitely. 

Trixie interrupts her own thoughts.

“Yes beaut, what can I do you for?”

“Have you got any painkillers?” The girl asks, pressing her hand into her stomach, “Karen from Finance says you’ve got the whole of Boots in there,” she points at Trixie’s desk pedestal.

“Awh. Sorry babes, I’ve only got Nurofen.”

Trixie ransacked the Nurofen from Sharon’s drawer after she went off on maternity leave, and never came back. Nevertheless, Trixie has no intention of giving out premium, brand-name painkillers to temps. 

“Nurofen would be fine. I mean, they’re just ibuprofen really,” the girl says hopefully.

Trixie smiles impassively.

“But no, don’t worry, I’ll go to the shop,” the girl finishes. 

“Okay beaut. Is there any way you could pick me up a salted caramel Galaxy while you’re out?”

The afternoon crawls. Trixie stares out the window. Their office looks into the headquarters of a brand of nail varnish she can never afford. The afternoon is dismal and dark, and they've got the light on in the boardroom already; Trixie can just about make out some colour swatches pinned up on the flipchart stand. Trixie can also see the back of the overground station, she likes catching glimpses of the long white trains and their red doors, before they disappear underground again. 

Her desk phone rings and she glares at it, before she clocks the number. It's Rhys, who works on the floor below. He's the only other Welsh person in the company, and the only other known gay. They sat together until their team leader decided to shake up the seating plan, and they were mysteriously separated. Rhys and Trixie have spent many an afternoon debating whether they feel the decision was more homophobic, or xenophobic.

"Alrigh' Trix! You alrigh', I'm alrigh'," Rhys’ voice sings down the receiver.

Trixie doesn’t bother to disguise her delighted shriek of laughter, "’Hiya butt! You alrigh', I'm alrigh',” She likes rolling the words against the top of her mouth, the way they turn into a trill. 

"Babes,” Rhys starts, “I needs to talk to you about tonight. We going out? I wanted to go G.A.Y. but I seen on Facebook that Dan is going and if I sees that boy I’ll be fucking tamping.”

Trixie laughs down the phone and then looks over both shoulders at the other people around her, typing endlessly into the little squares on their screens. Sometimes she isn't even sure what she should be typing, she just moves numbers around from columns on one workbook to another one. 

“You knows what I’m like. I just can't handle it Trix, babe. Let’s think of somewhere new to go," Rhys pleads.

Trixie hums. She knows that wherever they go, for every ten men in the club, there will only be three women. With the luck that she has in meeting women; two will assume she’s straight and the other one will be either married, minging, or both. 

"I’ve got nothing to wear," Trixie says reluctantly. 

“Come on babe, don’t leave me hanging!” Rhys moans down the phone. “’Ave a few pints of bow and black, and you won’t care what you’re wearing. Just put on a skirt, or something you can push up easily. You slut!” 

Rhys’s voice is so bubbly that Trixie can’t help smiling. She's got a dress from ASOS that she bought and was going to return because she hadn't had chance to wear it. The tag is held on by safety pin, so she can always wear it tonight and then just pin the tag back on and put it in the postal bag at work on Monday. 

“Fine, fine. I’ll come.”

Rhys squeals down the phone, “Bendigedig, I can’t wait!”

They spend another fifteen minutes talking about who has an Uber voucher, and planning what they’ll wear. By the end of the call, Trixie is looking forward to rainbow flags, pink flashing lights and rubbing up against someone hot and sweaty on a stage. 

.  
.  
.

Trixie gets ready with the Spice Girls blasting through her tiny bedsit, as she quickly makes a screwdriver in a pint glass. Her make up is looking flawless, and she’s curled her long hair so it bounces when she throws her head around. Her dress is tiny and bubble-gum pink, so bedazzled with beads and sequins that it rustles as she walks. She puts in a pair of faux-gold hoops that are so big that they almost brush her shoulders. She's almost ready. She’s running thirty minutes late, but everyone expects that from her now.

She picks up her phone to text to say that she’s on her way, when it lights up with a text. It's from Rhys.

_Babe, I'm so sorry, but Dan just text me. He says that he’s just got back from Germany with work and he hasn’t stopped thinking about me._

Trixie rolls her eyes and types out, _"get that Bratwurst"_ carelessly. She will wait for Rhys’ inevitable histrionics on Monday morning. 

Rhys texts back, “Nos da, cariad. Xx”

Trixie is secretly a little bit relieved that she won’t have to stand in the cold to queue for the club or spending hours listening to Rhys and his friends talking about how small their dating pool is, when they should try being a lesbian just for one day. The waste of her outfit is the biggest shame. It's times like this that she wishes she worked as a cam girl rather than as an operative on the phones. She knows that she could make a killing on camera, but she likes the intimacy of feeling like she’s whispering directly into someone’s ear. There’s something about it which reminds her of a priest in the confession booth. That, and she gets to wear her pyjamas. 

Trixie shucks off her dress and kicks it to the other side of the room, pulls on some comfortable underwear and a set of pyjamas instead. 

She works from her sofa. She doesn’t really have much other choice in her flat, it’s so small. She rents a bedsit in an enormous tower of flats somewhere on the outskirts of Zone 4. It’s got peeling lino in the kitchenette and damp all around the shower. Every time Trixie speaks to her mam she reminds Trixie that a house on James Street in her village recently sold for £63,000. She lectures Trixie, saying that if she moved home and spent the same on her mortgage as she does on her rent in London, she’d pay off her mortgage in less than ten years. Trixie’s dad always shouts in the background, “But it’s in fucking Wales, Jan. What young person would want to live be’yurr, mun?” 

Trixie imagines buying a house in the village. Some terraced, ex-council house with a child’s plastic trike poking out of an overgrown bush. A beige leather sofa with grease on the arms, and a boyfriend wearing a constant rotation of Welsh rugby jerseys. His mam coming over on Sundays for a gravy dinner. She can’t imagine anything worse. 

Trixie sets up her little Foley table of items to help her create the sounds that callers expect. She's got an electric toothbrush to fill in for a vibrator, an elastic band to stand in for the noise of a slap, and two old flip-flops for spanking. She also keeps a small notebook that she keeps next to her phone so she can keep track of the caller's names. Some of the girls on the forum have strong opinions about the best way to make authentic wet pussy sounds, but Trixie finds pulling the side of her cheek works just fine. 

She puts the TV on mute with subtitles; some Hairy Bikers documentary about Malaysian food is just starting and she thinks it will be acceptable background viewing.

Trixie signs into the website and lets the service know she is available for calls. They'll all come through to her landline now. She settles her basic plastic phone on the arm of her sofa and settles the blankets around her, waiting for her first call.

Trixie enjoys most of the calls she gets. It’s more interesting than her day job, anyway. With her sharp tongue and haughty attitude, she has found a niche for herself in the people who call wanting to speak to some sort of Domme or Mistress. While some of the calls are depressingly mundane, she can't help enjoying being treated like a Goddess for a few minutes. Sometimes when she hangs up, her hands shake with the adrenaline that courses through her. 

After she'd found her niche, Trixie had scoured the websites of competitor lines to find their most popular FemDom operators and then used the same key words in their profiles to poach their callers at 15p cheaper a minute. It’s the sort of smarts that she’s never employed at the office.

Trixie had once experienced a legendary caller, a near mythical creature, who seemed to get his jollies in being commanded to waste his money. He begged her to leave the landline handset on her chair while she hoovered the whole of her bedsit. When she got back he thanked her profusely for the privilege of spending near £120 on the sound of Trixie's old hoover spluttering around her cheap carpet. She’s still hoping that he’ll decide to call again. 

It doesn't take long before her phone starts ringing. The Hairy Bikers haven’t even made it out of Kuala Lumpur yet. She puts on the neutral accent that she uses for work, thankful for her degree in Drama Studies for this at least. 

"Hello and good evening. You're through to Bryony. What's your name?"

"It's, er, Dave."

"Lovely to speak to you Dave. What's the weather like where you are?"

"I'm in uhhh, Edinburgh."

"Wow," she intones, "it must be so cold there. Perfect snuggling weather," she gives a little airy giggle, and she can feel Dave's breathing get slower, more regular. 

Trixie wants to get him to relax even more, "And what are you up to tonight?” 

“Erm, just chilling,” Dave says. He hasn't got a trace of a Scottish accent, and Trixie figures he must have just plucked the city of Edinburgh out of the air. 

“Are you at home, or stuck in the office?” She wrinkles her nose and injects a tone of frustration of the idea of being stuck in the office. It’s amazing how many men seem to stay in their offices late into the evening, before needing some urgent stress relief. 

“Home.” 

“You alone tonight then, David?” Trixie lowers the timbre of her voice, she feels it rumbling in her throat.

“Yeah. I’m by myself. I’m feeling really,” Dave breaks off to cough, “horny.”

“Horny. I see. And what sort of thing makes you horny, David?” Trixie keeps her voice low and slows it down. The line is clear, and she can hear Dave’s breathing start to come a bit more ragged.

“Um. On your website you said. Err. You said that you liked being in control.”

“Right. And you like a woman that’s in control?”

Trixie feels the rush of relief in his voice when he confirms that yes, he likes a woman that is in control. He waits a few seconds and then says that he really likes it when women wear leather. He references a film from the 1970s which Trixie has never seen, but which he says was the start of his interest in leather. Trixie asks him whether he’d like to chat with her about his fantasies, or whether he'd like her to tell him one of her favourite fantasies. One of the ones that’s guaranteed to get her dripping wet. He sounds shy when he says that he’d like to hear about her fantasies. 

“Now, I want you to close your eyes and relax. I’m going to talk to you.” She likes the ones that want her to tell them a story best. She doesn't need to interact so much with their halting, repetitive responses. In her notebook she’s written a basic structure for some of the main kinks she gets asked to talk about. Pegging, cuckholding, watersports. There’s not much that she hasn’t discussed with her callers. On these calls she can go on auto-pilot, sometimes she’s even managed to do some Internet shopping or order a Chinese on her mobile phone while talking through one of her stories. Sometimes she thinks they’d even enjoy knowing that. 

Trixie starts to weave one of the stories she uses most often, “Can you hear the roar of my car outside your house, David? I’ve got a shiny, black sports car.”

Trixie used to specify the make, but she’s found that it’s hard to pitch the status level correctly. Once she had a guy that argued with her about how she could possibly afford a Maserati. After she bit back that she could save for a Maserati from the money she makes charging men over two quid a minute to talk to her, he blamed her for the softening of his dick and hung up.

“I’m walking up your driveway,” Trixie continues, “And I’m wearing a long black trench coat. I let myself in, and I want you to let the excitement grow in your chest when you hear the key in the latch.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And the excitement in your stomach grows and grows as I walk up the stairs. You begin to smell my perfume. It’s strong and feminine and it gets stronger and stronger as I make my way through your house. Is your cock getting hard already?" She still feels an illicit sort of thrill when she says those words. She hasn’t been with a guy since school, and none of her girlfriends have ever had a cock. The last cock she felt in her hands was the texture of raw chicken, and it didn't get much firmer. 

"That nice? You like doing that for me?" 

“Yeah –“ Dave’s voice breaks off, goes high and squeaky.

“So I pull open the belt of my trench, and it puddles at my feet. Underneath, I’m wearing a black latex jumpsuit for you. It’s so tight, David. It goes from my chin and all down my arms. I’m wearing leather gloves, and the highest stilettos you can imagine. They’re so pointy, like little daggers. My jumpsuit makes my tits look amazing. It’s so tight over my tits. The latex is pulling across my cleavage and it feels like my big breasts are just going to pop out.”

Dave’s breath is huffing into the receiver. They always like the tits. Trixie has a fake name and a fake accent, and she gives a different answer about her location and profession to every customer; but Trixie never changes her body. She likes describing her body. She lingers over her curves and her long blonde hair and even describes the little mole under her clavicle. 

“I’m tall and my legs are so long, and the muscles in my thighs are straining at the latex. The latex is so shiny. You can smell it. Can you smell the latex David?”

“Uh huh,” he says again. 

“It’s so tight, David. So tight that you can see the lips of my fat pussy. The latex is so shiny you can see all the curves of my body.”

Dave makes a strangled noise and Trixie smirks to herself. 

“I want you to kneel on the floor for me, David. I want you to feel the cold, hard floor and I want you to know that you’re there because you want to be. Because I put you there. On your knees just for me. Does that turn you on? It turns me on. I love having men on their knees for me. I feel so powerful and sexy looking down at a man on his knees.”

“God, Bryony, Ugh. Yes.”

She picks up the flip flop and holds it in her right hand. She tucks the receiver into the layer of fat under her chin. 

“Do you like a bit of pain with your pleasure?”

“Yes,” he groans. 

“Yes what?” Her tone is firm. Most of the callers she gets already have a preconceived notion of what to expect. She lets them call her Mistress, Ma’am, Princess, Sir, or whatever they call the ideal Domme that they’ve built themselves in their head. 

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“David, I need you to be a really good boy for me now.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“I want you to imagine you kneeling forward now, so your head is on the floor. I want you to imagine how good it would feel to have your cock pressed between your thighs and your belly, and for your head to be right next to the carpet.”

Trixie has a momentary panic about whether she said carpet or wooden flooring earlier. 

“I’m going to walk even closer to you David. And I want you to imagine the view you would get. You would see the curves of my calves and my thick, strong thighs. All covered in black, shiny latex. But I don’t want you to look up. I want you to look at the floor. You haven’t earned the right to look at me yet.”

David breathes out suddenly into the receiver, and Trixie sits forward in her seat. It might not turn her on, but this bit is always a buzz. 

“Put your tongue out David. All the way out. I want you to feel the stretch at the back of your mouth.”

Dave can’t hide the wet clack his tongue gives as he follows her instructions. She can hardly believe he’s doing it. 

“Good boy. Now I want you to imagine that tongue dragging slowly up the heel of my stiletto, yeah? It’s going to feel so cool and smooth against your tongue.”

“Yeah,” pants Dave. 

“What do you do next, my good boy?” 

“I, er, drag my tongue further up your leg?” He sounds hopeful. 

Trixie brings the flip-flop down hard onto the coffee table so hard her TV remote rattles. It’s an effective imitation of a slap. She wonders whether he’s imagining it to his shoulder, his arse, or across his face. 

“No! David! You wait for your next instruction!” She lets her voice raise a bit, enunciates even more clearly. 

“Fuck. Yes. Sorry. Thank you,” The words sound like they’ve been punched out of his throat. 

Trixie sighs as if she’s deeply and personally disappointed. 

“I know you don’t deserve this, greedy boy, but I’m going to give it to you anyway because I want it. Lie back.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Dave’s voice is soft on the phone now and his neutral accent is starting to fall away. He’s got a lilting sort of accent, a bit like hers. 

“What’s my name?” She asks imperious. 

“Mistress Bryony.” 

He says Bryony more like Broi-oh-noy now. Hah, she thinks, he a West Midlands boy then. 

“Good boy. I’m going to give you a treat now. But you have to help me, okay? I want to imagine this just as clearly as you are, because I love doing it so much.”

He sounds rapt as he answers, “Yeah.”

“What does your chest look like, David? Are you a bit stocky? I like a well-built guy. Do you have any tattoos? Do you shave your chest?” 

“Err,” he says, and Trixie wonders whether he’ll give in to the urge to improve on reality. 

“I’m, yeah, I’m carrying a few extra pounds. Since Christmas, you know. I’ve got a tattoo – err, a tribal thing. It’s over my heart. I’ve got lots of chest hair. It’s just dark brown.”

“Mmm,” she says, like she can barely imagine anything better. 

“Now, if you can put your phone on hands free, or if you can bear to let go of that lovely hard cock, you can do this with me. You can get a pen and hold it.”

There’s a little scuffly noise on the other end of the line. 

“I want to move my leg over you, and just slowly press on your chest with the end of my stiletto. I’m going to do it gently at first, and then it’s going to get more and more painful as I put more of my weight on you. You can do it to yourself with a pen if you want.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a pen. It feels so good. There’s so much pre-come coming out of my cock, it’s unbelievable. I’m so wet.”

“Good. Me too. I want you to twist the pen as you press it harder, because that’s what I’d like to do. Twist it hard. I want to leave a mark. And then I’m going to drag the heel all the way up to your tattoo. I want to leave a nice red scram.”

Fuck, Trixie thinks, English people say scratch. Dave just groans deeply in response. On her table, she’s got a zip that she’s cut out of an old dress. She holds it up to the receiver. 

“Are you ready for me now, David? I’m so wet for you. I want you to look up at my pussy, see the way the lips are outlined in the latex. It’s throbbing against the latex, I can feel it. I’m going to unzip the -,” Trixie is momentarily lost for a sexy word. Gusset? Crotch? 

She tries again, “I’m going to unzip the bottom of my catsuit and I’m going to sit on your face. My arse is still going to be covered in the latex, and you’re going to feel it rub and squeak against your nose and forehead as you lick my sopping pussy. You’re going to suck all this wetness right out of me.”

She starts slowly undoing the zip right next to the receiver, and as she does Dave starts keening. 

Six more minutes, and it's all over. Dave catches his breath, and thanks Trixie. He tells her that he’s alone in a hotel room, away with work, and it’s been nice to have some company. He confides that he has never been brave enough to try anything like that in the flesh, but that “Bryony” had really brought it to life.

Trixie says that she’s never enjoyed a scene over the phone this much before, and that no other caller has ever made her this wet. It’s a lie, of course, but often it’s a lucrative one. Trixie drops her voice into a conspiratorial whisper and says that she really needs to come. She can fake an orgasm without even thinking about it, and it would keep him on the line for a while longer. But Dave sounds exhausted and doesn’t take the bait. 

Nevertheless, Trixie manages to draw the total length of the call out to almost 35 minutes. It’s going to be a good earner, potentially the best in weeks. 

She asks Dave questions about what he's got planned for the evening. It turns out that he's looking forward to watching the documentary about dolphins that's coming on after the Malaysian cooking show. Not that Trixie tells him that she’s been watching the Hairy Bikers make nasi goreng through the whole length of their call. 

They wrap up the call, Trixie makes sure that he takes down both her alias and her operator number. He seems like a decent man, and regular callers are more likely to call for a chat as well as an orgasm. 

The next call is a waste of time. Before she’s even said her name a young voice shouts, “I bet you’ve got a bucket fanny!” and a chorus of sniggers breaks out. 

Trixie hangs up with a shout of, "You know this isn't actually anonymised on the phone bill. I hope your mum sees it and grounds you, you little shit."

The Hairy Bikers are leaving Malaysia, and Trixie is quite looking forward to the dolphin programme. She hopes that Dave is lying sated and relaxed in his hotel room. Maybe he’s got a beer, enjoying learning about blowholes and click noises and whatever else there is to learn about dolphins. 

The phone rings again, and the caller has no time for introductions or pleasantries. He’s already more than halfway there, Trixie can tell from the way he’s wheezing into the receiver and the quick, slick sounds in the background. Trixie hates it when the tight bastards call her up when they’re half way gone. He wants to be called humiliating names. Trixie sneers down the phone, saying anything insulting that comes to mind. She even throws in a couple of the Shakespearean ones she can remember from uni. He doesn’t even seem to notice, moans just as hard when she calls him an “abortive, rooting hog” and a “cub-drawn, milk livered” bastard. He gives his last, loudest groan when she hisses “little piss bitch” at him, and then he hangs up straight away. She hopes that after he hangs up he realises that all calls are charged at a six minute minimum charge, and therefore he could have slowed his strokes and enjoyed himself for at least another four minutes for the same price. 

There isn’t another call for a while. Trixie flicks off the dolphin programme after the first ten minutes. Attenborough is banging on about dolphins raping each other. Trixie thinks about the dolphin pencil case she had in school, and feels a bit sick. She turns the main light off, puts her pink fairy lights on and then decides to watch re-runs of a sitcom she used to watch with her uni friends in their shared student house. 

After a few episodes, she heads to the little kitchenette on the other side of the flat and fills the kettle. The phone starts to ring just as the kettle starts to boil. Typical. She thinks about letting the call go, and then reminds herself of the new shoes she’d like, or a possibility of going on a package holiday somewhere hot. She abandons the kettle, and sprints back over to her landline. 

"Good evening. You’re through to Bryony. What would you like me to call you tonight?"

“Good evening! My name is Katya!” The voice is young and unusually peppy. 

"Katya, what a pretty name! Are you on your own tonight, gorgeous?"

Trixie doesn’t get many women callers, and the ones that do call often have a boyfriend lurking in the background. 

"Yeah, that's why I'm calling,” Katya guffaws. It’s a big, raucous sound and Trixie feels her mouth quirk up at the sides. 

"And where are you based, Katya?” 

"I'm in London. I've just come back from the pub. It was so boring, I was just sat there on my phone looking at shit on Wavey Garms. I thought I’d come home and do something I’d never done before." 

"So you called a sex chat line? Normally I just have a kebab when I get home from the pub.” 

Katya laughs down the phone at that. Her laugh is raspy and infectious, "You're funny, Bryony.”

Trixie laughs too, keen to keep her on the line. 

“So, Katya, what would you like to talk about tonight?” 

“Oh, God. Beauty standards? Demonic possession? Why lasagne is disgusting? Race relations in America?” 

Trixie starts to feel irritated. She’s not sure if Katya is high, or just a bit spacey, but she hasn’t got all evening to talk about irrelevant bullshit. She reminds herself that she’s getting paid by the minute, and settles down. 

“Racism in America sounds a bit complicated for now. Wouldn’t you rather talk about how we could make each other feel good?”

“Really though, wouldn’t we all feel good if society was truly equal?”

“Katya!” Trixie snaps, “Stop talking now.”

It’s the voice that she uses on some of her clients when they ask for her full Domme persona. Either Katya’s not serious and she’ll hang up, or Katya is serious and it will grab her attention. 

Katya’s moans faintly. Oh, Trixie thinks. That’s not what she expected. 

“Why don’t you tell me a little more about where you are, Katya?”

When she answers, her nonchalant tone has gone, “I’m in my room, in bed. I’ve just taken my make-up off.”

Trixie sighs like Katya’s just told her she loves her, “Are you spread out in bed like I am?”

“Er, spread out as far as I can be. I’ve got a day bed. It’s nice to be enclosed on two sides! It’s wooden. My family got it from Nepal, there are really pretty engravings of monkeys and trees all over it. I had my dad send it up when I moved into the flat.”

Trixie sighs and makes her way over to the kitchen, she’s going to need some cheese and crackers if she’s got to listen to this shit. 

“I’ve got all my pillows behind my head. There are new sheets on the bed and they’re so soft on my skin,” says Trixie. She tries to unwrap the cheese and unscrew the lid of the chutney jar as quietly as she can. The has a knack for closing the fridge door in complete silence.

“That sounds really decadent,” says Katya. 

“Yeah,” Trixie replies, “I deserve it.”

Listening to herself, she makes the decision to spread butter on her cracker before the cheese and chutney. It’s a sharp, brittle cheddar and needs a bit of butter. She does deserve it. 

Trixie settles back on the sofa, “So, Katya, what were you hoping for when you called this evening?”

Trixie is always surprised by the number of people that call a line for a Dominatrix, and then manage to forget, or who are too shy to say, that that’s what they want. 

There’s a pause on the line, and Trixie fills it, “I can talk you through one of my favourite fantasies, and we can pretend it’s happening. Or we can talk about what we like and touch ourselves.”

“Um,” Katya says, “In bed, I like to be... Or, I suppose, I am... Submissive. Just in bed though. Not at work, or on the street, or in the, er, swimming pool... And I think maybe I’d like the second one of those options.”

Earlier, Trixie would have identified Katya’s accent as simply southern English, with little twang of _Laaahndaahn_. But the longer she talks to Katya, the more she notices the long vowel sound, the pronounced consonants. Katya is moneyed. 

Trixie puts her plate of cheese and crackers back down on the coffee table. 

“Katya, will you tell me a little more about yourself?”

“I’m, er, about five foot six. 27. White British. Dyed blonde hair, green eyes.”

“Honey, that sounds a bit like you’re reporting a missing person. What do you like about yourself?”

“I’ve got very sturdy teeth. I leave extremely recognisable bite marks. Which I suppose also sounds like the sort of thing you’d tell the police. My eyes are _alluring_. They’re what I’d probably call,” Katya pauses, “Seafoam. Or Prussian Green?” 

“That sounds really striking. Mine are deep brown,” Trixie checks the time on her phone. She’s well over the six minute minimum. She’s pleased with what she’s earned so far, but still needs to move it on a little.

“I want you to tell me more about your body,” Trixie says.

“I’m quite slim. I used to do ballet until Upper Sixth. My legs are still pretty toned.”

Trixie hums approvingly. 

“What are your breasts like?”

“Small, ish. Pert,” Katya sounds unsure, and Trixie isn’t sure if it’s because she’s making it up on the spot, or if it’s her somewhat erratic manner of speaking.

“Perfect, I love little tits. Have you ever put a clamp on your nipples? That’s one of my favourite things to do with tits like yours”

Katya giggles, “No, not yet.”

“Do you like to pinch them when you touch yourself?”

“Yeah,” The little hitch in Katya’s voice is back again.

“Oh, you’re a good girl,” There’s another hitch. 

“I want you to pinch them for me, as hard as you can, for three seconds. If you do that for me, I’ll describe my tits for you.”

“I’m doing it. It feels nice.”

“Harder, then. Dig your nails in. Roll your nipple in between them.”

Katya hisses with pain. Trixie counts slowly, drawing it out for as long as possible. She shifts on her sofa. Her mobile phone and nail file slide forgotten to the floor. 

“Good girl. Stop.” 

Katya pants. She’s definitely not stopping. Trixie can tell.

“Katya, I told you to stop.”

Katya groans faintly. 

“You’ve been a bit recalcitrant, but I’ll take pity on you because it’s your first call. I’ve got really long nails, Katya. If I was pinching them, you’d be crying by now. Do you want your reward?”

“Yes, please.”

Trixie finds it harder to describe her body for women. They’re never as easily impressed. She feels like she should include stretchmarks, the stray nipple hair that always grows back in the same place, how she’s a 36F in Marks and Spencer but sometimes needs a 38 back in Ann Summers.

She starts, speaking as slowly and sensually as she can, “My breasts are big. I’m wearing a balcony bra, and you can see half of my areolae out of the top of the cup. They’re pressed together in this bra, and they’re so sensitive when I brush my fingers down my cleavage. It feels so good.”

Katya breathes shakily into the receiver. There’s a rustle down the line. Trixie’s stomach twists at the thought of Katya getting herself off to the thought of her breasts. It happens a few times a week, but it’s not often that attractive, Sloane-y women do it.

“Are they heavy?” Katya asks. 

“Yeah, so heavy” says Trixie. “Sometimes at the end of the day my back is aching from how heavy they are. And my bra strap is digging in. So I take it off but they’re so heavy. And I cup them with my hands, but they’re way too big to fit into my hands. I can knead them, but there’s still so much of them spilling out around my hands.”

Katya jumps in, “I could hold them to stop them hurting your back. And I could rub some cool lotion into your bra strap marks, if they’ve been digging in.” 

“Katya, you’re learning!” Trixie says brightly, “Well done! You’re showing a lot of initiative. I really _could_ do with a girl like you around the house. Tell me, are you touching yourself to the thought of serving me?”

“Uh-huh,” 

“Use your words, Katya.”

“Yes, I am.”

"How are you touching yourself?"

"Just, ah, rubbing myself." 

"Where?"

"My clit."

"Why are you starting there? Why not draw it out a little?"

Between Dave and Katya, Trixie thinks that this evening could be her best earner in some time. But truthfully, she also feels motivated to make it something that Katya will remember. 

"Are you shaved or not?" Trixie asks.

"I’ve got a hairy bush. It’s very _retro._ ”

"Right. So I want you to rub your fingers through your hair, as softly as you can."

"Like the wind going through a field of corn."

"Uh yes, if you like," Trixie snorts with laughter. She likes how idiosyncratic Katya's way of speaking is.

"Now pull on it for me, twist it between your fingers."

Katya yelps, "It hurts!" 

"Good."

"Now I want you to draw your finger softly and slowly up the place where your labia meet. If your inner labia sticks out a bit, just softly push it to the side for now."

Katya makes a soft noise as she obeys. 

Trixie continues, "Now push in. Are you wetter than before?"

"Uh-I mean, yes Bryony."

"Is Bryony what you _want_ to call me? You can call me whatever you want."

"Yes Mistress,” Katya says quickly.

Trixie wonders how long Katya has been waiting to call a woman that. She remembers wanting to be called Mistress, and the electric feeling when it happened for the first time outside of her calls. She’d expected it to feel too performative, but it had just felt right, appropriate. 

Katya's voice is starting to sound a bit dreamier, drifting up to her head voice. The affectations of her put-on accent are falling away, and what’s underneath is unselfconsciously plummy and posh. Trixie smiles, it's what she wants to hear. She feels powerful. Katya investing in the scene will make her much more likely to stay on the line for as long as Trixie wants her to, and much more likely to select Trixie's profile from the different operators when she does this again. 

"Right. I want you to circle around your clit now. You can rub where it gets hard above your clit but stay away from your clit itself."

"Yes Mistress," Katya pants. She whimpers as she obeys Trixie. Trixie takes the opportunity to wet her throat with the bottle of water she has nearby and makes encouraging humming noises. She quickly checks her phone to see if Rhys has messaged again. 

Katya moans suddenly, tries to stifle it, and then another moan spills out from her. 

"Katya. Are you obeying my instructions? Are you just play-acting, or are you actually serving me?"

"I'm sorry Mistress. It just felt good."

Trixie tuts down into the phone, really clacking her tongue against the top of her mouth so Katya gets the message.

"That's not good enough. I want you to fetch me a vibrator, and a paddle brush for me. A wooden one if you have it."

"Yes Mistress."

Trixie hears the soft noise of Katya's phone hitting the bed. If she listens closely, she can hear the sound of Katya's feet padding on the floor. There's the sound of a drawer creaking open and then slamming shut. 

"I'm back," Katya sounds a bit out of breath, "What shall I do now?"

"I want you to spank yourself, Katya."

"Oh. I..."

"Do you want to?" Trixie drops her imperious tone, "You can have a break, or we can switch fantasies. There are a lot of things I love talking about. I just want to make you feel good." 

Trixie rushes her reassurances. She tells herself that it's just because she wants to keep Katya on the line, that this could potentially be a great earner. But she also doesn't want to let Katya down. 

"No, I want to." Katya's voice sounds a bit stronger, like she's surfaced from a deep dive.

"Okay, get on your knees for me baby. Don't sit back on your heels. Kneel up and stick your arse out as much as you can."

Trixie hears the noise of Katya’s limbs on the sheets.

"Good girl."

"How does it feel?"

"I feel a bit vulnerable. A bit silly."

"If anyone walked in on you now, they'd know exactly what you were doing."

Katya gasps quietly. Trixie smirks to herself.

"Firstly, I want you to hold the brush so that the bristles face your skin. And I want you to brush it all the way down your chest. I want you to feel every single bristle over your nipples, your stomach."

Katya giggles, "It tickles a bit - ooh!" 

"That's good. Do it again. From your knees to your thighs now."

Katya moans into the receiver.

"I've got such long nails, Katya," she says casually. Trixie looks down at her nails, splaying her fingers across her thigh, tilts it from side to side so she can enjoy the smooth shine of her nail polish. Trixie continues, "I want you to imagine those bristles are the very tips of my finger nails just skimming up and down your thighs."

Katya begs, "Please Mistress. Please scratch down my skin."

"Have you got that lovely English rose skin? Would it leave a mark?"

"I'm quite tanned, but I do go bright pink when something scratches me."

"Tanned? Quite the little hedonist, aren't you?" 

Trixie bets that Katya goes on holiday to the south of France. Maybe she even goes with her childhood friends. Straight ones, from comp. She probably didn’t go to comp. Maybe grammar school or private. Maybe they hire a boat and sit out in the sun with white bikinis. Maybe the other girls all read serious novels, and Katya has filled her Kindle with queer, kinky porn. And she might binge read it all in the sun on the deck of the boat, her white bikini bottoms darkening with her wetness. Trixie shakes herself out of the flight of fancy that has side-tracked her and returns to her instructions. 

"Katya. I want you to put your phone on the pillow first. Put me on speaker. Now bring your arm behind you and twist the brush so the flat side is facing your body. Bring it down against your arse, as fast and as hard as you can."

Trixie hears the slap of the wood and then, milliseconds later, Katya's intake of breath. It's unmistakable. No ruler, or flip flop, can imitate that sound.

"Thank you, Mistress." 

That's not a line Trixie has fed Katya, and so Trixie can only assume that it's something she's been whispering into her pillow in private for a while now, maybe years.

"Again," Trixie says coolly.

She sits and listens while Katya hits herself over and over, whimpering and swearing into the receiver. Normally, Trixie would use this as an opportunity to refill her drink, make a quick trip to the toilet, even open up a magazine. The caller is lost in their own fantasies at this point, Trixie is merely facilitating it. 

But instead, she sits and listens. She's barely breathing as she listens to the noise of the wood, followed by Katya's mumbling, _"Thank you Mistress"_ after each one. Trixie’s clit is throbbing. She can feel it all down her thighs and up her spine. 

"Katya. Do you have a mirror in your room. Can you go and take a look at your arse for me?"

Katya whimpers, "Yes Mistress."

Trixie lets out a breath she didn't realise she was holding. She wants to imagine Katya's toned, tanned arse. She hopes Katya has marked herself. She hopes it's red raw. She listens as carefully for Katya's next words as she would if she was the caller.

"Fuck!" says Katya suddenly. "My legs are so shaky." 

"Oh honey," Trixie's response is instinctive, "If I was there, I'd help you over to the mirror."

"Okay, I'm in front of my mirror. It's so red, Bry-Mistress."

"Have you broken the skin? Do you have any of those nice little red spots under the skin?"

"No..."

Trixie’s jaw is clenched. She lets her breath hiss between her teeth, "If I was there, you would have." 

Katya whines faintly. She says, "Mistress. Can I please get back into bed? My toes are cold."

She's such a good girl for asking, such a good girl.

"Could you crawl for me?" 

There is no sound on the line, until Katya's voice comes quiet and small, "Yes Mistress."

"You can tuck your phone under your arm-pit if you want, or into your bra. You can't carry it while you crawl, I don't want it disconnecting or getting scratched." 

Everything gets very muffled, and Trixie finds herself holding her breath until Katya comes back on the line. 

"Mistress, I'm back on the bed now."

"Good girl. I think you can get yourself off now. Turn the vibrator on."

Katya barely fumbles, Trixie can hear the buzz of the machine straight away.

"Oh! Mistress! I'm really wet!" She breathes incredulously.

"Good, I'm glad. Why don't you play with it for a while? Spread it around, massage it into your thighs. You could put your fingers in it and draw them out slowly, see how long you can say connected to your needy cunt."

Katya groans as she does what Trixie tells her. 

"When you're ready, get the vibrator and I want you to hold it against your clit."

"Okay Mistress, I'm ready." 

Trixie can hear the drone of the vibrator start up, and Katya gasps.

Trixie let’s Katya get used to the sensation, waits on the line while she moans and whimpers. She checks the time for the first time in a while, the call has been 31 minutes long already. Usually by now the caller is too far gone to contribute much, and Trixie robotically repeats the same phrases, but Katya has somehow got her slipping into the mindset she gets when she plays with someone for real. She feels so calm, like her head is completely clear. 

Katya hisses, “It’s too strong, my hips keep jerking. Can I use my fingers?”

“No,” says Trixie, “I wish I was with you, I’d keep you writhing and desperate for me. I’d hold the vibe against you until you couldn’t take it any more. But I’m not, so you’ll have to do it yourself. And you will, won’t you?”

Between Trixie’s legs is burning hot now, screaming for her touch. She knows her thighs will be sticky.

“Are you touching yourself, Mistress?”

“Yes,” Trixie lies. She’s never touched herself for real on the phone to a caller before. She’s not going to start now. However much she wants to. 

“I’m touching myself and thinking about how lucky I am you called me, how good you are for me. I wish I was there to pinch your nipples and make you come for me.”

Katya speaks in a breathless rush, “Thank you Mistress. I wish I could serve you, make you come. I’d kneel for you and lick you and I’d love to grab your thighs. Are they big?”

Trixie looks down at the fat on her thighs stretching out her cheap pyjama bottoms. “Yeah, they’re pretty big.”

“It makes me feel good when you talk about my body, Katya. I’m getting close, are you?”

Katya makes a whingey sort of noise, “Yeah.”

Katya grunts, starts swearing under her breath. There’s a squeaking in the background and Trixie would bet it’s from Katya grinding her hips down into the mattress. 

“Fuck. I’m going to come! I-” Katya squeals. 

“Nope. Hands on your thighs. Vibrator off.” Trixie says quickly. 

Katya whines. 

Trixie raises her voice, “Who’s in control Katya?”

“You are.”

“Okay. Right.” Trixie tries to sound all business, despite the fact that she’s now breathing hard. “I don’t want you to come yet. You can have permission, but only if you tell me your favourite fantasy. Now put the vibe back, but don’t come.”

Katya is wrecked, but she tries her best to string together a lucid narrative for Trixie. Trixie moans deeply every now and again to encourage her. Her fantasy jumps from scene to scene, and sometimes her words are slurred or yelped or missed out entirely. 

Katya’s fantasy is deliciously naughty. She wants to wait blindfolded, and then be guided to kneel next to a sofa. Katya says insistently that it’s always a Chesterfield in her fantasies. When she gets there, there are two women sitting down. Katya eats them both out, one after the other, while they play with her hair and talk about her like she’s not there. Trixie immediately starts thinking of ways she could bring that to life over the phone. 

By the end of it, Katya is barely coherent and begging to come. Every other word is, “Please” or “Mistress.” 

Trixie isn’t doing much better. She’s pressing her legs together in time with the pulsing in her cunt, and grabbing the side of the sofa to stop her rubbing at herself. Katya seems to have forgotten that Trixie is supposed to be touching herself too, and Trixie is glad. She’s so far gone that she couldn’t talk about doing it without giving in. She feels light headed with lust. Her palms are sweating, and she wants to absolutely ruin Katya. Not over the phone, but biting into Katya’s real skin on a real bed. 

She speaks through gritted teeth, “Katya, thank you. You can come now. Good girl.”

The words have barely left Trixie’s mouth when Katya screams right in her ear. The scream dies into whimpers, and then pants.

“Well done, Katya. Take a sip of water if you’ve got a glass there. Take a breath. That’s a good girl.”

Trixie listens to Katya’s panting slowing down. 

“Did you come, Mistr-Bryony?”

“Yeah I did,” Trixie lies, “At the same time as you.” 

“That was bare good, I was so _into it_. More than I thought I would be. You were amazing! I can totally see why people call these numbers now.”

The difference between Katya’s voice during sex, and the sunny tone she is using now, is stark and jarring. Trixie still feels absorbed in her role. She feels the intoxicating blend of control and power thrumming through her arms still, with nowhere for it to go. She feels the phantom presence of Katya’s neck under her hands. 

“I’m just curious. Why did you decide to ring?” Trixie asks. 

Katya laughs brightly, “Oh, a sort of experiment, really! My friend is doing a photography project around those cards you get in phone boxes and we were just talking about it and...” 

Katya rambles on, Trixie loses the thread of it. It’s like talking to one of the fucking temps. Trixie doesn’t have the hwyl for any of it. Didn’t Katya say she was 27? Surely she should have had some of that knocked out of her by now. 

Katya continues, “... And I was just fascinated by the dichotomy of the kind of stereotype of like the fag smoking, leopard-print-wearing ‘hag’ figure on the sex line while pushing the trolley around Aldi.”

Trixie bristles, “I’m not a fucking _hag_ , fuck you!”

“No, no, no!” Katya hurries, “That’s just, like, the archetype.”

“I described myself perfectly accurately,” Trixie says stiffly. 

“Good. Oh, fuck. I want to bury my head in your stomach and nuzzle it so hard.”

Trixie blushes despite herself. 

“I don’t know what to say now. I feel like Aladdin, when he drops Jasmine back off after the carpet ride. Oh! On a similar note, when I was a kid I got _so turned on_ by Jasmine in the hourglass scene, you get me.”

Trixie snorts with laughter, “I can relate. Well, normally callers just say goodbye and thank you. But you can call anytime I’m online, you know my name and my number.”

She hopes Katya calls again. 

Katya’s voice is suddenly soft, “Then good night Bryony. Thank you for a lovely evening. I’m sure we’ll speak again.” 

There’s a click, and then Trixie is overwhelmed by the silence of her flat. 

Trixie switches the TV on out of habit. A chat show is on, but Trixie doesn’t know any of the celebrities on it. They’re all smiling with far too many teeth. She pulls the pink fleecy blanket off the back of her sofa over her knees. She counts up the amount of money Katya spent on the call and allows herself a smile. 

Trixie waits for an hour, but she doesn’t get another call. She doesn’t know if she’s furious or relieved. She decides to go to bed early, and get herself off while thinking about Katya. There’s no point in pretending that she won’t. She's so wet, her fingers skid and slip as she rubs her clit. She Googles Chesterfields first, and then in her fantasy she seats herself on one. She imagines Katya naked. Katya kneels gracefully at her feet, ankles pressed neatly together. She imagines herself pulling Katya into her lap by her blonde hair, coming against her mouth. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ehhhh idk man.

On the radio, Nick Grimshaw keeps on saying that this Easter bank holiday is going to be a _”scorcher”_. The Tesco at the end of Trixie’s street stocks up on disposable barbeques, and they disappear as soon as staff can stack them. Trixie is invited to a picnic at Regent’s Park by the girls in the office, but she doesn’t go. Rhys is going to Camden Lock for a pint but she can’t stand jockeying for tables and the smell of the street food market always makes her feel slightly sick. 

Her mam tries to coax her back to Wales with the promise of a nut roast alongside the lamb shank she’s planning to cook for the rest of the family. She stays in London. Going back home depresses her slightly. She always remembers her father’s comments about how it’s a joke that you have to pay to get into Wales, when most people would pay to get out. 

The site she uses for her side hustle allows her to set the amount that she charges per minute. She decides to do a bank holiday sale and reduces her charges. She whips up a quick graphic, re-cropping one of the headless and artfully posed nudes that she uses to advertise her services. She adds a pink filter and some generic Easter themed clip-art. She's heard from some of the girls on the forum that bank holidays are guaranteed earners.

She starts off Easter Monday with a pegging call. It’s a good one, it reminds her of fucking past girlfriends with a strap on. She describes stretching out his arsehole, spreading his cheeks wide open and drizzling lube between them. Before long, she's helping him fantasise about her properly reaming him, as deeply as she can manage. She describes at length the way her leather harness would slap against his cheeks and how she’d grab his shoulders and pull him backwards towards her, arching his back. 

He doesn't have anything suitable that he can use to play along with the call, and so at the end Trixie gives him some guidance about what sort of plug or dildo he should shop for. They make arrangements that he'll call again in a few weeks, and she’ll help him experiment with his new toy. Trixie feigns excitement at this, as if she is truly interested in what some anonymous idiot from Durham can fit up his arsehole.

Overall, Trixie's pleased with the call. It's a long one, and afterwards she paces around the flat. She hangs up the clothes scattered on her bedroom floor, and waters the small basil plant in her kitchenette window. She can only see a sliver of the street from her flat. Most of the window looks right into another block of flats. But she looks at what she can see. On the horizon she can see the towers of the City, shrouded in the hazy heat of days like today. Some people have dragged bath towels out into the car park and are laying out on them, laughing and sucking on ice lollies. 

Before long, the phone rings again. Trixie crosses the narrow span of her flat to answer it. 

"Hi! It's me! Have you ever sat and really _thought_ about how truly morbid Easter is?"

"Um, sorry, it's Bryony here. I don't know whether you've got the -"

"No, It's me! Katya! I was just watching The Story of Easter and it just occurred to me what a trip the whole crucifixion thing is. I mean, did you even know that you can't even crucify someone through the middle of the palms? It would rip right through. You need to put the nail through the bones of the wrist."

"Katya, I'm not _that_ sort of a Dominatrix. I don't actually go _that_ far."

"Sorry, I was just thinking all the times as a kid when I sat in Church and stared at the Pieta statue with Jesus bleeding and Mary holding him and glass tears all over her face and I didn’t even realise how macabre it is. Maybe that's why we try and distract kids with chocolate! Hey - have you ever broken off a shard of chocolate egg and then used it to write your name on the inside of the other half?"

Trixie laughs, "Yes, I used to do that every year. Why is it that chocolate tastes so much nicer in spherical form?"

Katya makes a thoughtful noise, "I think it's because the chocolate is so thin it melts quicker and that improves mouthfeel."

"Mouthfeel? Honey oh honey, last time we spoke you were telling me how good your mouth would feel!"

Katya screeches down the phone, "It would, it would!"

"Are you having a nice Easter?" Trixie asks lamely. 

"I think I’m the only one left in London! Went to the shop for milk this morning and it was like a ghost town. Nigel and Tabs are still in Provence.”

“Nigel and Tabs?” Trixie asks, feeling a bit like she’s slipping behind. 

“Oh! My parents! They usually come to London for Easter, but they’re taking advantage of the weather. It’s even better than here, if you can believe. I’m starting to feel a creeping, Catholic guilt about phoning up a Dominatrix on Easter Sunday though. Do you suffer with a Catholic guilt complex, Bryony?”

Katya’s voice is focused and insistent. Trixie feels curiously transparent with it aimed at her, she knows she has to come up with more than the vague sort of answer she gives most people at work. Trixie thinks of her Mamgu's Chapel. There were two Chapels in the village; the one you went to and the one you didn't. They were both stark white and square with long thin windows. Trixie's Chapel still had the original box pews in plain, light wood. The altar was just a large table, the cross just two plain bars of wood. Trixie tries to translate _Capel yr Annibynwyr_ inside her head for Katya, then gives up. 

She says, "No, just plain Protestant guilt."

"Oh, good old Oliver Cromwell banning Christmas and Easter. You’ve got to give it to us lot, at least we know how to party. Passion Plays absolutely _go off_. Wavey, lit. The whole shebang."

Trixie could never be doing with Religious Education in school. She remembers going to a Cathedral in Spain on a teenage family holiday. She’d been both impressed and overwhelmed by the ornate gold interior. Other than that, she couldn’t tell you much about the differences between Catholic and Protestant churches.

"Why don’t we talk about a different type of passion play?” Trixie purrs. 

Katya is suddenly quiet on the line, "Oh, I don't know. I just clicked on the website because I was bored, and I saw you were online, and I wondered what you were up to. Wondered if you were doing something nice with your family, or whether you were bored like me." 

"We could talk about the fantasy you shared with me last time? The one with the Chesterfield,” Trixie suggests.

Katya sounds sheepish, "I can't believe you remember that!" 

Trixie had scribbled it down quickly in her notebook. She tells herself that it's only because she has written it down that she remembers it, but she knows she’s lying to herself. 

"So you'd want to be blindfolded first?"

"Uh-huh," says Katya cautiously. It sounds like she's talking around something in her mouth.

"Are you biting your nails?"

"No," Katya's voice is sullen, "But I am biting off the skin around them."

"Stop that," says Trixie firmly, "I want all your attention on me.” 

"Okay," says Katya, and Trixie fancies that she can hear a smile in her voice.

"So there's another girl, maybe my maid, and she blindfolds you. She asks you to kneel on the floor. What's the floor like, Katya?"

"Um. It's soft. Carpet."

"That's good. We’ll leave you waiting for a while, so you'll appreciate the carpet soon enough. You'll wait kneeling for us. You'll be naked, and you'll get goose bumps along your forearms. Your nipples will be hard will the anticipation of waiting for us. The longer you wait, the wetter you get. I want you to feel the urge to wiggle your hips, but you must stay still for me.”

She talks to Katya about feeling the heat of the candles around the room, smelling their faint jasmine scent. 

“Do you have long hair, Katya?"

"It's pretty long, yeah."

"I’d like to see it in a pony tail, hanging nice and neatly between your shoulder blades. You’d need to keep your back nice and straight, show me what you learnt in ballet. Shoulders down, chin up. I want to see an elegant neck. I’ll be so disappointed if I bring my friend to see you and you’re _slouching._ ” Trixie tries to inject as much distain as possible in the word. 

Trixie takes a breath. She can hear Katya's breathing on the line get heavier. She reminds Katya that she can start touching herself whenever she feels ready to. Katya sighs in relief, and Trixie hears what she thinks is Katya reaching underneath her clothes to touch herself. 

"I want you to imagine the prickling of your skin when you feel our eyes on you. I usually like to hear the click of my heels when I walk over to one of my pets, but this time the carpet will muffle it. I wonder if not hearing my heels on the floor makes you nervous. You'll never know quite here I am, and you'll need to keep ever so still and careful. I want to see the concentration on your face when you try and work out where we are. Perhaps when we get closer, you’d start to smell our perfume mixed with the smell of leather. Maybe I’d get so close that you'd only know I was there when bent down and grabbed your jaw. I want to feel your jaw trembling in my hand."

"Uh-huh," Katya breathes out. She sounds strained already. Trixie knows how she feels. She is beginning to get lost in the fantasy herself. It’s intoxicating to imagine a beautiful woman kneeling on the floor for her. And Katya's more vivacious, more well spoken than Trixie. It’s intoxicating that she’d want to kneel for Trixie at all. She barely has any idea what Katya looks like, but she images a sort of sketchy mash-up of the details Katya has told her, and the features she always finds attractive. Katya’s told her that she likes red lipstick, and she imagines full, scarlet lips underneath a black, silk blindfold. 

“Katya. I’ve got a little choice for you. Do you want my soft, warm fingers or would you like me to wear my black leather gloves.”

“Leather, please.” 

That’s what she wanted Katya to say. Trixie imagines rolling the gloves up her arms, the leather soft and pliant from use. She folds her legs underneath herself and grabs one of her cushions, pulling it tight to her stomach. Warmth is building between her thighs and she wants to stoke it into a flame.

She describes rubbing the pads of the glove along Katya’s jaw, before trailing her fingers across Katya’s lips. She tells Katya to imagine the scent of the leather mixing with the waxy, vanilla scent of Katya’s lipstick. She’d instruct Katya to open her lips and slide two fingers right to the back of the mouth. Trixie would like to see how far she could push her fingers into Katya’s mouth, she’d hope to get far enough to make her shoulders jerk and her eyes water.

Trixie lets her head fall back on the back of the sofa, closing her eyes, feeling herself absorbed in the scene she’s building. Without even really thinking about it, she lets her hands drift and rub over her the front of her knickers. She only comes to her senses when she hears Katya make a wet choking noise.

“Katya, are you fucking your mouth?”

Her positive answer sounds muffled and wet. Trixie smirks to herself on her sofa. She draws her hand away from herself and reaches for the assortment of props on her coffee table. Trixie had bought a metal clip from the hardware store just in case Katya ever called again, feeing insane the whole time. She gets it ready. The little metal clasp slips a bit in her sweaty palm. 

"Now, Katya, we're going to slip a little collar around your neck. And then clip on a leash, is that okay?"

"Yes please, Mistress," says Katya dreamily.

Trixie presses the spring of the metal clip down and then lets it bounce back up. The click of the metal resounds around her small bedsit. 

Katya sighs like she’s just got into a hot bath. 

“That calming you down? You don’t have to worry about anything, you just have to be good for me.”

Trixie knows that one of the main elements of her job is stress relief. Callers are often tense, and hopefully they leave a little less so. For all of Katya’s humour and jaunty way of speaking, there’s something skittish about her. 

"I'll walk ahead of you," Trixie continues, "You'll have to keep up with me, or the lead will tug against your neck."

Katya groans softly.

"My companion can walk behind you so she can see your lovely arse, see your ballet muscles flexing under your skin," Trixie talks Katya though settling her down next to the sofa; Trixie and her companion seated and Katya kneeling at her feet.

She switches her patter from talking to Katya, to talking to an imaginary companion. Trixie feels a little self-conscious at first, but she soon relaxes into it. She gives a commentary how good Katya's mouth would feel, using the memory of the best head she's ever had to guide her. Her cunt is throbbing, she’d do just about anything for someone’s tongue down there. It feels swollen, like she can barely close her legs around it. 

She talks about Katya like she’s not there, just like Katya said she wanted last time. She groans, tells her imaginary companion that she must get Katya to move her tongue in that way, that she must pull her hair so Katya moans into her. 

Before long, she finds herself describing Katya as a "good bitch" and "my little slut." Each time she does, Katya makes a whining noise through her nose. And each time Katya does that, Trixie shushes her, steps up the acidity of her insults.

Trixie says casually, “Yeah, you can grind against her nose if you want. She won’t mind, she knows she’s my good cuntlicker. She wants to do her best for me. ” 

Katya whimpers and Trixie ignores it entirely.

It's when Trixie calls her the worst epithets she can think of, each one making Trixie’s pussy throb, that Katya squeals into the phone. There’s one high pitched one and then a series of yelps and groans.

"Did you come, Mistress?" Katya asks, when her breathing has come back down to normal.

"What?" Trixie is startled, she thought Katya was too far out of it to be thinking of Trixie. 

"Can you? I want you to. Please," Katya’s voice is low and pleading. 

Usually Trixie would do anything to continue the call. And she can't pretend that she hasn't been keeping a running total of the financial value of the call. But something urges her to say, "Katya, it's fine. You should get on with your Bank Holiday. The line is expensive."

"No, please, I really want to listen to you come."

Trixie's mouth dries out. She sits up in her chair, tugs her clothes around herself. She's couldn't possibly have a real orgasm on the phone with a caller. Some girls do, but it’s always been a limit for Trixie. Trixie thinks about faking one for Katya. It’s something she does often, multiple times a shift, but she can’t help her hips from moving slightly in her seat. She’s already had to pull her hands away from herself twice. Faking it would be even more torturous than the guilt of giving in. 

Katya whimpers and Trixie breaks. 

Trixie slips her fingers underneath her skirt and down the front of her tights. She continues in the same fantasy; imagining watching her submissive on her knees for another Domme, doing her best to make Trixie proud. She imagines the pair of them yanking Katya’s lead, dragging her carelessly back and forth across the floor until she’s dizzy and disorientated. She wants Katya to end up with swollen lips, glazed eyes, her face shining with their combined wetness from the bridge of her nose to her neck. 

Trixie comes hard. Her knuckles whiten around her phone and her hips lift off the sofa’s cheap foam cushions. She’s floating, just letting her clit throb under her fingers while she comes back to herself.

Katya’s voice breaks the silence, “Are you Welsh?”

Trixie’s heart skips. 

Katya speaks again, “You were like ‘I’m _coming_ ’,” she imitates Trixie. She emphasises both of the two separate syllables of the last word, drawing out the second vowel with a long _eh_ sound. 

It reminds Trixie of being made to parrot phrases in university. The girls in her flat would make her say things like “I’m fucking tamping” and, “Whose coat is that jacket?” and record them to show their friends back home in the holidays. He tone is icy when she grits out, “Yes. It’s easier when I just speak with a generic English accent.”

“That’s so interesting! Why is that?” Katya sounds guileless and effervescent in her ear. 

Trixie could give her a few different answers. She goes for, “I’m not sure who will be calling. There’s certain, er, expectations with an accent. I can be a blank slate.”

Trixie wants to point out that Katya’s accent changes too. Katya switches from a pseudo-Cockney patois to straight out of The Crown every other phrase. But she’s a customer, and they don’t always take teasing well. She also wants to say that mostly she finds most posh girls insipid and interchangeable; even though some ugly primeval impulse is enthralled by them in a fetishistic, probably self-hating, sort of way.

But something warm and fragile in Katya’s voice makes Trixie feel like she’s standing there in front of her. She pictures a woman with an easy smile, and a self-effacing tilt of the head. She doesn’t say any of that aloud. 

“Bryony,” Katya starts, “I’ve never chirpsed a girl like this before and believe me, I know this sounds suspish. But maybe we should link up, yeah?”

Trixie stares very hard at the corner of her bookshelf, pretending she hasn’t heard what she’s heard. She gives herself a couple of seconds to compose herself before answering. 

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Trixie scrabbles her thoughts together, “You must know why! This is a service. It would be like…asking a chef to come over to your house and cook beans on toast and eat them with you.”

“But what if -,” Katya protests, “What if the chef really wanted to come and eat supper?”

Trixie really hopes that she doesn’t have to spell it out for Katya. Katya’s obviously waiting for her to speak, so perhaps she does need to do it.

“I guess if _that particular_ chef wanted to, then that would be their choice. I’m really sorry, but I don’t do that. This is a job for me. I don’t even use my real name on here.”

“Oh, right. I see,” Katya sounds crestfallen. “No. I mean, yeah. Absolutely. That’s fine. I mean, I’d never want you to feel uncomfortable or under pressure or anything. That’s not cool. So yeah, um, thanks. Happy Easter.”

Katya’s voice disappears, and Trixie finds herself alone again. She opens Facebook on her phone, and there’s a barrage of pictures of people on the beach, in the park. She closes the app down. 

There's a forum attached to the site that she uses and Trixie sometimes speaks to the women there when she has a question, or wants advice. She's swapped numbers with another operator, and Trixie tries not to think about it too deeply as she gives her a ring. Trixie doesn’t know much about her other than she’s from Newcastle and her working name makes her sound like a glamorous beauty queen than a struggling folk singer. 

"Alreet pet?" Alyssa answers the phone cheerfully. 

Trixie smiles at the sound of her voice. She tries to summon up her best Geordie accent, channeling her best Hairy Biker impression. 

“Wye aye pet! Geet walla propa toon hinny!” Trixie spurts nonsense, cackling as she does. 

“Haddaway, man! You think you’re reet clever, don’t you?”

There’s something funny about Alyssa when she’s not even trying. Trixie giggles down the phone and then sobers up, “Alyssa, I got myself off for real today.”

“Howay! I need to get up-up-up into this FemDom gig, hinny! All I’ve been getting recently is school girl calls. School is over! You’d think people would get a grip, get a life, and get over it!”

“Listen, ‘Lys. She asked me to meet up for real and I had a mad moment of wanting to say yes.”

“Oh, oh, I see where this is going, hinny,” Alyssa makes a noise that’s hard to read over the phone. She starts again, getting louder and quicker as she goes on, “Bryony Firkus what if she’s a murderer, man? Or some kind of creep!” 

Trixie scoffs, “I can’t imagine that, myself.”

“You’re grown folk, okay? You can make up your own mind, pet.”

They talk around it a bit more, and Trixie resolves to stick to her first instinct. She doesn’t even know if Katya will call again. Katya seemed pretty embarrassed. If she calls again she’ll probably pick another girl off the website. Trixie feels an unexpected twist in her stomach when she thinks of Katya talking to some straight girl who might be laughing at her the whole time. Or maybe she’ll give up calling, find a woman in a bar. They’ll buy a house in Notting Hill, get a French bulldog and take it for walks in matching brown leather riding boots. 

.  
.  
.  


When Trixie gets to work the next day, she senses immediately that something is amiss. Everyone on her row of desks keeps darting nervous glances at her, and she’s sure that the papers in her in-tray used to be in a different order. Every tea-round seems to happen when she’s in the loo or the post room. At 11, she gets an ominous email from her manager saying that she wants to have a “quick chat” before lunch. She rings Rhys, but he doesn’t pick up. 

She tries to distract herself, but there is little comfort to be found in assigning budget codes to expenditure on the company credit card. 

At 12.30 she makes her way to her Manager’s office. She offers Trixie a small plastic cup of water before inviting her to sit down. 

“Hello!” Her manager starts cheerily, “I’m so glad you could join me for this chat. As you know, April is appraisal season, and I wanted to start this conversation before it all gets properly underway.”

Trixie nods. She folds and unfolds her hands in her lap. 

“Before we start, Trixie, I’d like you to think of a word or an image that sums up what it feels like to work here, or your relationship with your job.”

Trixie thinks. The first thing that comes to mind is a clogged drain at the side of a road. On the sort of day where the rain continually slashes down, and all the drains fill up with brown leaves and broken umbrellas until there’s a small river flowing in the gutter. 

“Fine,” Trixie says. 

“Fine? Okay, well. That’s a good start. Thank you, Trixie,” her manager says. She writes ‘fine’ at the top of a sheet of paper, then pauses for a moment before underlining it. 

Her manager takes a deep breath and moves the pen to the other side of her desk, then brings it back again. 

“Trixie. I’m afraid that there are some elements of your performance that have been under par.”

Trixie tries to pull her skirt down over her knees, tries to make it as smooth as she possibly can. She presses and presses the fabric as she tries to block out what is being said. Her manager says something about, “consulting the Appropriate Use of Personal Technology policy,” “targets” and “monitoring the situation until there’s an improvement in performance.”

Trixie wants to scream. She nods and looks down at the pink fabric pulled perfectly taut around her knee caps until she’s permitted to get up. 

She walks down the corridor in a fugue, falling gracelessly into her chair and typing into her computer with brimming, unseeing eyes until it’s time to go home. 

By the time Trixie leaves the office the arid spell has broken, and the sky is full of fat, warm raindrops. Her ballet pumps are scratched and letting in the water, and she curses all the way to the Tube station. She bashes her Oyster Card onto the panel on top of the gate, and makes her way through the warren of corridors to the platform.

It's a long journey home, and every carriage seems packed. Trixie is glad to be tall. She leans her back against the long metal pole and tries to ignore what’s going on around her. She can feel a guy’s eyes on her arse so she turns to stare him down. He can’t hold her gaze, and hides his face behind his copy of the _Evening Standard_. She sneers at the front page, hopes he can feel it through the paper. The tunnels are so dark that the windows function as mirrors. She critiques her face. She hates the narrow bridge and broad end of her nose, the round jaw that her mam says is part of her Welsh heritage, and her slight snaggletooth. 

Closing the door to her flat is a blessing. She treats herself to fresh pyjamas and settles herself into the sofa. She texts a couple of her friends from back home, but there is no reply. She signs in to her website, figuring that at least she'll make a bit of quick cash out of this shitty evening. 

Her first caller is a heavy-breather, and she conducts all of the call with a tone of cool distain.

She describes her body as if she’s floating outside of it, talking about weighing her breasts in her hands and letting them rest on her soft stomach. She describes the creases at the top of her thighs, and the way her blonde curls flow over her shoulders, and her strong, muscular calves tapering down to delicate ankles.

He pants, “You sound so gorgeous. Fuck. You’re making me so hard.”

Trixie opens a takeaway app on her phone and replies offhandedly, “You know I’d never fuck you, right? If I saw you in a bar, I wouldn’t even look at you. I wouldn’t even notice your existence. You’d have to give me at least £200 for me to let you lick the crotch of my underwear.” It sounds cruel but it's just the truth. 

“Yeah – Fuck, yeah. I’m not worthy of you. I’m coming! I’m – “

“Okay,” Trixie says flatly. 

After he’s come, he tries to engage Trixie in chat.

“Mate, I don’t care,” she interrupts. He’s well over the 15 minute mark. 

He hangs up and she rolls her eyes. Apparently, he’s only able to let go of his male entitlement for as long as it takes to get off. 

Trixie is thinking of logging off for the evening when the phone rings again. Her heart is heavy as she picks up the receiver. She’s had enough of men treating her like a toy, even as they call her a Goddess. But the alternative is staying in her shitty office job and her shitty bedsit forever. Or moving in with her parents, moving back into the tiny fuchsia bedroom of he childhood and dragging her mam’s spoilt Yorkie around the park. 

"Bryony," a woman’s voice slurs down the line, "I just got absolutely _railed_."

"Katya, is that you? Are you okay?"

"I've had a couple of jars," she says ambiguously. "I took a girl home with me, but she's gone now."

"That's good, gives you plenty of time to get a bit of shut-eye. Why don't you get a glass of water?"

Trixie knows she should be furious, but there's something endearing about the way Katya's stage whispering into the receiver. It sounds so muffled, her face must be right up against the phone. 

"What's glass of water in Welsh?"

"Gwydraid o ddŵr.”

"Oh," Katya breathes, "That sounds sexy. Say something else."

"Rwy'n – Uh. Bryony. Rwy'n casáu pêl-rwyd a daearyddiaeth. Mae gen i un brawd."

Katya splutters with laughter into the phone until it turns into a racking cough.

“I have no idea what that means! It doesn’t sound at all like French, or anything really.”

"Do you speak French then?"

"Yeah, it's not bad. I'm still pretty much fluent. I speak a bit of Russian and Italian. I had a really cringey Japanese phase in school as well."

Trixie's not in the mood to marvel at Katya's achievements. 

"So, was this girl French? Or were you showing off your skills as a cunning linguist in another field?"

Katya laughs and then says nonchalantly, "I asked her to choke me when we were fucking." 

Trixie cringes internally at the idea of Katya being choked by a total stranger under the influence of alcohol. 

"Did she do it properly?"

"Yeah, she gave me breaks and stuff. I had to tell her to go harder. She was fucking me from behind and she put her hands around my neck. After I told her to go harder she dug her fingers into my neck a bit. It was hot. Hold up, I’ll get my mirror and see if there’s a mark.” 

Trixie's eyes prickle with frustration. She knows that many of her caller enjoy the line as part of a diverse sex life. But right now, she doesn't understand why Katya is phoning her when she's drunk and freshly fucked.

"Did you come when she fucked you?" Trixie asks. Her voice sounds dead even to her own ears. 

"I did," Katya whispers. She lowers her voice further and continues, "I thought of you though. Thought of you saying you'd keep me on a lead. I was imagining you holding it as you fuck me, wrapping it around your wrist to make me keep my head up and arch my back for you."

"That's a lovely idea. You should have told her. I'm sure she could have improvised with a belt or whatever."

"I suppose," Katya sounds sulky, and Trixie can't work it out, "But I was imagining you holding it."

"Where to is she now?" Trixie says before she can stop herself. 

Katya yells, "I can't believe you actually said that! Such a cliché! But she's on the night tube, I assume. It was just a casual thing, she went home straight after.” 

"And you still need a second round?" Trixie feels just like she’s at work teasing Rhys about some new guy . 

Katya giggles and Trixie finds the corners of her mouth twitch despite herself.

"Are you still in bed Katya?"

"Uh-huh. My sheets are really warm and crumpled and I’m still really wet. I'm feeling very _opulent_ ," Katya misses the ‘t’ and pronounces it French style, gives an exaggerated moan and then bursts into giggles again. She gasps out, "I just threw my head back then and felt _bare_ dizzy."

"Throwing your head back? You pretending to be a little slut for me?" Trixie asks.

"Maybe. I'm just writhing around, running my fingers up over my rib cage. Pinching my nipples."

"It sounds more like you're turning yourself on, not letting me turn you on. You an exhibitionist, huh?"

Katya whimpers out of her nose. Trixie smirks to herself. 

There’s a thud and a small flurry of other noises, “Ouch! Fuck! I just kicked my lamp!” 

Trixie rolls her eyes, “What do you want Katya?"

"I want you to fuck me," she whines, "I want you to do it when I'm on my back, so I can see your face.” 

Katya drops her voice so that Trixie can barely hear her, “I’m super flexible. You can put my legs however you want. I’ll be so good for you.” She says it insistently, like she’s telling Trixie her innermost secrets.

Katya speaks up again, in one big rush, “I want you to press around my neck until my face turns pink.”

Her voice is gleeful, and Trixie suddenly can't breathe. Who is this fucking nightmare? She grapples for control. 

“You think I want to fuck you after someone else has, Katya? I think I’d rather wait, tease you until I’m the only one you can imagine touching you.”

Katya whines, and Trixie can hear wet noises in the background of the call. 

When Trixie thinks she’s safe to quietly make her way for a piss, Katya takes a deep breath and starts talking again, "I'd leave my front door unlocked for you. I'd tie my lead to the bed-head, and you can just walk in and _have_ me. I want you to just grab my legs and pull me down the bed and…” Katya trails off with a long, dreamy sigh.

Trixie needed to pee before the call and it’s starting to hurt. But her arousal is growing too, and she isn’t going to miss a chance to get off tonight. She is grateful that her cheap plastic landline phone is cordless, and she tiptoes as quietly as she can to the bathroom. All of the walls are tiled, and she hopes that Katya doesn't pick up on the echo. She uses her muscles to pee in a soft stream.

"Mistress, are you peeing?"

"Uh -" She freezes. 

"I don't mind if you are," Katya's voice is timorous and shaky. 

Trixie’s stomach is churning with her nerves too, but she tries to summon up her firm voice, "You want to help clean me up? Kneel for me and be useful?"

Katya keens urgently, "Oh God. Oh God. I've never talked about this with anyone before."

"Is it something you want to talk about?"

" _Yes_ ," Katya hisses. 

"Okay. I want you to think about kneeling next to the toilet until I'm finished. And then I'll stand over you with my knees apart and you can lick at me until I’m all cleaned up and I say you're done."

“And what if? What if you’re not, er, finished?” Katya asks tentatively. 

Even though she knows Katya can’t see her Trixie raises her eyebrow imperiously, “Then you’ll just have to take care of it until I’m done.”

Katya makes a gurgling noise down the phone. She recovers herself to ask, “Are you shaved?”

Trixie answers, “No.”

“Oh, fuck. God. As if I’ve been staring across the Bristol Channel at you all my life and I didn't know you were there,” Katya sighs like they’ve been whispering sweet nothings at each other, instead of talking about Katya licking up her piss.

“You’re from Bristol?” Trixie asks. 

“Not really, but in that general vicinity.”

Trixie is curious, “You don’t sound like it.” 

“I guess I lost my accent at school,” Katya says casually. 

“You keep dragging me off topic!” Trixie exclaims, feeling momentarily bad for not concentrating on getting Katya off.

“It’s my fault. I’m still a bit trollied. I’m touching myself though, just little light circles. It feels good, but I would prefer you to hold me down and fuck me,” Katya hums thoughtfully, “And if you could bring some toast and marmalade that would be amazing.”

“I should give you a slap for that,” says Trixie.

“Oh, please do,” replies Katya. She sounds like she’s got a smile in her voice. 

It’s hard to keep subs under when she’s working with them over the phone, even harder with someone like Katya. Trixie is sure that if they met it would be a different story. She thinks about making eye contact with Katya as she issues a few hard taps to the face, and feels a dirty squirming in her stomach. 

Trixie’s sat on the side of her bath in the dark. It’s murky, but she can still see the patch of damp that her landlord won’t fix. She thinks about how much of her wages go towards paying for this shit hole, and about the “Performance Management Plan” she’s somehow agreed to. 

“Katya?” 

“Yeah?”

She takes a breath, “My name is Trixie. I’m a lesbian and a vibrant Leo. I live in Zone 4 and I was wondering if you’d like to meet up?”

“Trixie!” Katya screeches, “That sounds more like a porno name than _Bryony_! Trixie’s, like, a busty 60s pin up girl gone wild.”

“I know, I know. My parents almost went for Bronwyn, and then mam decided to go more ‘modern.’”

Katya laughs down the phone, “I feel awfully naive. I’ve been using my real name this whole time. But yes, it’s a date.”

Trixie reads her phone number out over the line, and Katya messages her mobile with a series of seemingly randomly chosen emojis.

Trixie suggests they get off the premium number, and Katya laughingly agrees. She says Trixie should buy her at least a couple of pints with the money Katya’s given her. They both hang up. Trixie stays sat in on the edge of the bath, a phone in each hand, letting what she’s done sink in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mamgu - Grandmother (I know you north Walian fish use Nain but Trixie is blates west Walian.)  
> Capel yr Annibynwyr - Independent Chapel.  
> Rwy'n – Uh. Bryony. Rwy'n casáu pêl-rwyd a daearyddiaeth. Mae gen i un brawd - My name is, uh, Bryony. I hate netball and geography. I have one brother. 
> 
>  
> 
> Selected Geordie  
> Alreet - Alright?  
> Haddaway - No way! You're joking!  
> Reet - Used here it means very.  
> Hinny - Girl  
> Howay! - Come through!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter became an absolute monster so I chopped it roughly in two. 
> 
> This chapter takes place in a fantasy AU of the United Kingdom where our LGBT venues aren't chronically disappearing, with the womens' venues going first.

Trixie twists and turns in front of the mirror in her flat. She wants to find an outfit that conveys dominance and authority but doesn’t want to end up looking corny. She’d feel ridiculous in some of the outfits that she describes for her callers. In the end, she firmly tells herself that as she is a Dominant, anything she wears will be the sort of clothes a Domme would wear. Although she’d probably draw the line at a clown costume.

She selects a pink, crushed velvet dress with a pastel pink pleather jacket slung over the top. Trixie rummages in the large box of assorted jewellery next to her bed and pulls out two enamel pins. One is a rectangle with stripes of various pink tones, and the other has an image of two clasped hands with rope tied around the wrists. She pops them through the lapel of her jacket and starts packing her bags. Trixie wishes she didn't need to take an overnight bag on the Tube, but she can't see any other way of getting everything she needs to Katya’s place. 

Trixie was hoping to have time to get her roots done before meeting Katya, but she hasn’t. She keeps her hair in loose waves which she tries to loosely sculpt over the breast of her jacket. She did manage to paint and shape her nails, and she checks for any chips or lines in them before she leaves her house.

They haven’t really spoken since they agreed to try a date, other than negotiating a time and a place. Trixie had often squinted at the small picture on Katya’s contact information. It was a blonde woman that Trixie presumed was Katya, in a tall furry hat with what looked like a ski slope in the background. She was smiling widely, with her arms around two other people in the frame. 

She often thought of asking Katya some mundane questions, or just simply asking how her day was going. Someone at the office left a passive aggressive note on the fridge and she’d taken a quick picture of it, wondering if it would make Katya smile. She didn’t have the nerve to send it, in the end. 

They're meeting in a cafe that Katya suggested between Old Compton Street and Chinatown. Trixie knows her way around Soho. The pavements are packed with Saturday visitors and she's happy to walk down the middle of the road instead, while she finds her way around the narrow backstreets. She passes an independent sex shop, a record shop and a few boutiques, until she finally arrives at a street where every bar seems to have a row of rainbow flags flapping outside it. It’s still a sight that makes her heart immeasurably lighter . As a teenager, she’d travelled for well over an hour on a train just to find one sad excuse for a gay bar, and she’d been too shy to go out into the smoking area for fear of being stared or shouted at. 

There isn't a rainbow flag outside the one that Katya has picked. There's no sign either. Trixie can only identify it because she's been on their website and is familiar with the mandala that seems to be in lieu of a real name. The mandala is picked out in a bright copper paint against the matte olive green of the rest of the frontage.

Trixie checks her phone to see if Katya has been in contact. There's no message, and Trixie pushes open the door to the cafe. She feels like a cunt waiting on the street. 

The cafe is relatively quiet. There's a waitress with red hair washing a bundle of mint leaves behind the counter, and few other customers talking softly on benched seating. Incense sticks are burning all around in small, mirrored holders. Trixie squints through the pungent fog and sees a slim, blonde figure sitting extremely upright at one of the tables at the back of the cafe. 

As Trixie walks closer, she's convinced that it must be Katya. Her hair is the bouncy, dirty blonde sort of hair that reminds Trixie of the girls on the netball team at school. Half of it is pulled up into a scraggly knot on the top of her head and the other half hangs down her back. Katya’s wearing glasses, pen halfway out of her mouth as she reads over some papers set in front of her. Trixie doesn't have a clear look at the rest of her face, but the profile of her nose is strong and sharp. 

She’s intimidatingly attractive, and Trixie suddenly hates the way her dress gives a visible outline of her stomach, and she knows her bra is digging in at the back. Around the sleeves of her jacket the plastic faux leather has rubbed away, leaving patches of fabric showing through underneath. Her lipstick is too pink, too much, she feels like a clown. 

"Trixie!" The woman shouts, and Trixie takes a deep breath.

She forces a bubbly tone, "Katya! Hi!" 

Trixie briskly walks the last few paces to Katya's table, unsure whether Katya will walk around the table to greet her or not. Katya stands and leans over the table instead, hugging Trixie loosely. She smells of a mixture of sandalwood and something citrusy. 

Katya sits back down, gathering her papers together and loosely bundling them back in a folder. She beams at Trixie, and Trixie blinks back. Before Trixie can react, Katya's hands are in Trixie's hair, narrow fingers twisting through her curls. Goose pimples rise on the back of Trixie’s neck, and she tries not to shiver in discomfort. 

“Wow. Your hair is gorgeous. All of you is gorgeous." Katya's smile is wide and disarming. 

Trixie feels frozen. She blurts, “I really need my roots done, and the ends are fried.”

Katya reaches for the lengths of her hair again, twisting them through her fingers.

"It feels nice and soft to me. I'll get us a drink, what would you like?" Katya asks, sliding a slim leather wallet out of her bag.

"Uh. Just a tea please, normal tea."

"Darjeeling, Assam, Ceylon, Lapsang Souchong…?” Katya picks up the menu and starts looking for other options for Trixie. 

"Could you just ask them which is the strongest?"

"Sure, will do!" Katya gives a cheery wave and heads over to the counter. Trixie watches her go. She likes the way she walks with her shoulders pulled back and a springy step. 

Katya is wearing a pair of navy Adidas tracksuit bottoms that appear to be folded over several times at the waist, Trixie’s not sure if that is to make the waistband narrower or because they’re a bit long in the leg. For some reason, underneath her joggers she is wearing fishnet tights pulled up over her stomach. They’re high enough that they disappear underneath a cropped vest with a nineties style sports logo. Over that, she wears a large jacket with the sleeves rolled up over her delicate wrists. The pattern is a strange, fragmented board game collage. Trixie clocks the brand name placed at different angles in the pattern, _Moschino_. Trixie assumes it probably cost more than everything she is wearing and resists the urge to Google it. 

Katya bounces back to the table with her wallet in one hand and a plate of cake in the other.

"I thought I'd get us something to eat as well," she says, "It's a bit earnest here. I think this one is beetroot and chocolate, the other is courgette and apple." 

"Oh wow," Trixie deadpans. They sound disgusting. 

Katya nudges her foot against Trixie's under the table and breaks off a bit of cake, holding it for a second between her absurdly white teeth. Trixie wants to poke it in between them. 

"So, what do you do?" Katya asks it coyly, rolling her eyes as if to say _’Isn’t this a ridiculous thing to be doing with our Saturday afternoon?’_

"I work in business administration in a large company." 

Trixie leaves out the fact that this is apparently not something she does very well. 

Katya whistles, "What sort of company?"

"We sell insurance. I maintain the customer records on the CRM system we use."

“What’s a CRM?” Katya asks quickly, leaning forward in her chair.

The waitress interrupts to put their two pots of tea down in front of them. The pots are heavy earthenware with matching cups with no handles. Katya beams at the waitress and compliments the design of the pots. She runs her hands over their lumpy, pockmarked surface and then jumps back and laughs at herself when they inevitably burn the palms of her hands. Trixie likes the pots too, and even more she likes the matching, triangular milk jugs. 

Katya’s eyes flash, “We can definitely make off with one of these, right?”

“We’d definitely fit at least one in my overnight bag.”

Katya winks at her, “Sorry, you were explaining CRM to me?”

“Customer Relationship Management system. It keeps all the customer data in one place, so we can track all their interactions with us.”

Katya tilts her head to the side, “Is that a software that your company developed, or is it something that you bought in?"

"Bought in. We had a consultant come in and do loads of focus groups with staff members."

Trixie isn't used to answering so many questions about her job. Even her parents haven’t asked anything other than how it could relate to her degree. Katya keeps her eyes on Trixie, she continues to break off small squares of cake but otherwise focusses entirely on Trixie's face. 

There are some questions that she can't answer, and she feels her face heat up with embarrassment, "I'm sorry, it's really dull.”

"No, it's not!" Katya exclaims, "I'm always interested in processes and systems. Besides, you shouldn't be defined by how you fit into this capitalist system. What else do you do when you're not working your two jobs?"

Trixie freezes. She suddenly can't think of anything she does, other than watching TV. She tries to think of the last time she saw a play or went anywhere new. She deflects, "We talked about my job for ages, what about yourself?"

"Oh!" Katya jumps, bracelets clattering against the side of her saucer, "I'm finishing off my PhD in mechanical engineering. I'm on year four, so getting there. Finally."

"Right," says Trixie, trying to think of something well-informed and intelligent to say, "Have you had your viva yet?" she attempts.

"That's the last stage, so not quite yet. But I'm already getting cold sweat nightmares about it."

"What are you researching?" Trixie asks, it seems like a safer question.

It turns out that Katya can talk about her research for quite a while. She even gets some of her papers out of her bag for Trixie and points out relevant bits. She’s looking at something to do with product design and sustainability. Trixie doesn’t grasp most of it but it’s refreshing to be spoken to like someone of intelligence. 

Trixie takes a long slurp of tea. It's comforting to have it from a pot. It reminds her of tea at Mamgu's house. She’d always be made to lay the table first, pulling stained and frayed doilies from the drawers underneath the overbearing wooden dresser in the corner of the kitchen. 

“So, is it strange living in England?” Katya asks, pouring out the last of her tea into her cup. Trixie isn’t quite sure how Katya can delicately sip at something that smells so strongly of bonfires.

“Yeah, I mean I always forget to change my currency before I get to the border,” Trixie says sarcastically. 

Katya pokes her with the teaspoon, “It must be a bit different.”

Trixie chides herself. She isn’t in the office, she’s supposed to be making pleasant conversation. She’s meant to be making an effort. 

“It is. For a start, shop-bought Welsh cakes are just sad little discs of national shame. And I even miss the rain sometimes. I remember getting ready for a night out when I was in uni in London. And it started to, eh, drizzle. The rest of my housemates wouldn’t leave the house. Wouldn’t leave! They were all like,” Trixie affects an accent that’s meant to sound Essexy but ends up tinged with Katya’s, “’Oh my Christ! My hair’s going to get ruined!’" She switches back to her natural accent, "Don’t even fucking talk to me if you haven’t walked to school with your mascara down your face like you’re in a heavy metal band, and then had to ask your teacher to put your socks on the radiator. Welsh rain is like walking through a fucking car wash on foot and then a clown runs in with a bucket of water and hurls it at you!”

Katya honks with laughter into her cup, and Trixie feels gratified. 

“Would you ever move back home?”

Trixie shrugs, “I mean, I went back for a family wedding last year and Rhodri Davies, who was like _the_ Billy Big Bollocks of my school, was there. And the most he had to say for himself was that he got a caution for pissing on the statue of Loyal Bedwyr. He found it hilarious.”

“Loyal Bedwyr?”

“Ugh, he was this dog who followed his owner to work at the mine every day. And then when there was an explosion in the mine he went in to find this bloke, but he ended up getting crushed.”

Katya’s hand flies to her mouth, “That’s so sad!”

“It’s less sad when you have to write a rhyming poem in Welsh about it every Eisteddfod. And the statue is super weird. It’s a bronze sculpture of a mine cart on its side, with a load of coal spilling out of it, and then you can see the dog’s eyes and nose poking out from underneath the front of the cart, and his tail and his back leg at the back. The eyes look so sad, they’re so mournful and just like _’Why does it always happen to me?’_ ” Trixie apes a baleful shrug. 

Katya starts snickering behind her hand, and it balloons to a full-on howl of laughter.

She gasps out, “I’m sorry that I’m laughing at your cultural heritage. I’m so sorry. But that’s so – I mean, why?”

Trixie shrugs and offers to get another drink for them both. As she stands she shucks off her jacket, and Katya gives a low whistle.

“I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave,” Katya says quietly before bursting into laughter again, “I can’t believe I said that! I’m sorry!” She holds her palms out in front her like a gesture of surrender. 

Trixie grins over her shoulder at Katya and makes sure she swings her hips on her way over to the bar as much as she can. She leans her elbow on the tiled countertop, popping her hip and tossing her hair over her shoulder. She doesn’t look over her shoulder this time, but she hears Katya give a little whoop and a clap and she smirks to herself.

The waitress says she’ll bring their drinks over to them, and Trixie stalks back to Katya. She sways her hips even more, fixes Katya with a dangerous look.

Trixie settles herself back in her chair and asks, “So, how long have you been exploring being a submissive?”

Katya twists her fingers together and makes a thoughtful noise, “Uh, when I was doing my undergraduate degree in Oxford I was staying in college accommodation – “ She interrupts herself, “Have you ever been to any of the Oxford colleges?”

“No,” says Trixie flatly. She can only think of one girl from her school that applied to Oxford. 

“Well, basically you just get the furniture that’s given to you, and some of it is really old. I had this massive wardrobe. It had these wooden,” Katya draws a bizarre shape in mid-air, “things on the corners of it.”

She pauses for breath momentarily to take a sip of her tea, “I was going out with this History student. She was Canadian and _super_ peng by the way. She had me tied to these wooden spiky things on my wardrobe and the wardrobe was so tall I was up on my tip toes. She was slapping my tits and my feet kept slipping and the handle was digging into my back, so I had to arch into her and I was screaming. And I remember looking out of the window, and I could see the, y’know, the so-called dreaming spires. And I was thinking about, like, Oscar Wilde and Emily Davidson and all these people, and what they’d think if they saw me tied to the wardrobe getting my tits slapped until they were purple. And I felt so exhilarated. Like I was with the birds outside the window.”

“I can only assume that Oscar Wilde, at least, would approve wholeheartedly,” says Trixie. 

Katya guffaws and then looks down at the table. Each of the tables at the cafe has a small tealight holder set on them, and Katya starts fidgeting with the candle. Trixie watches her in silence, absorbing what Katya said and following the pattern of her finger through the orange flame. Katya moves her finger slower and slower, until she must be able to feel the heat on her skin.

Before Trixie can consider whether it's a reasonable thing to do, she firmly grabs Katya's wrists and pins them to the table.

"Don't do that. You'll hurt yourself," She says firmly. 

Katya's mouth twists into a sly smile, "Yes, Bryony."

Trixie raises her eyebrow and waits. 

Katya tries again, eyes sparkling mischievously, "Yes, Trixie."

Trixie inclines her head, giving Katya her best unimpressed look.

Katya's voice sounds a bit ragged when she tries again, "Yes, Mistress."

"That's better," says Trixie. She brings one of Katya's hands to her mouth, kissing the faint black mark left by the flame. 

Katya asks, "Same question to you, Mistress. Did you start being a Domme for your work, or did you choose that persona because you did it in your personal life anyway?" 

"The second one. I always had an inkling, but I started exploring it in University. I studied drama, and I was always intrigued by the different ways you can express and embody power. We did a lot of work on status. I enjoyed putting it into practice."

She remembers absurd exercises, being given a number on a piece of card and having to act according to its position on the scale of beggar to King. Trixie squares her broad shoulders and raises her chin to demonstrate to Katya, and she is gratified to see Katya’s gaze drop a little. Katya’s mouth looks soft too, Trixie can see a little peek of her teeth between her lips. 

She continues, "And I guess, like acting, even though there might be a 'script', the real magic only occurs when there are two, or I guess more, people working collaboratively. It’s organic, you never know what’s going to happen until it does happen.” 

Katya steeples her fingers in front of her face, "I like that. I like that." 

She’s silent for a moment and then raps her knuckles over the back of Trixie's hand, "I guess for young, female, Doms it's a bit more difficult to start practicing because you're playing against those stereotypes about gender and age. It’s not too difficult to find someone to play with when you’re a young, bisexual, woman sub. The trouble is picking out the decent ones.” 

Trixie shrugs, “I never struggled.”

Katya laughs again, moves her fingers to feather over the blue veins at Trixie’s wrist. Trixie considers Katya’s hand. Unlike hers, it’s slim and tanned and the veins stick up underneath the skin. There’s a strip of a tan line around her wrist where she must usually wear a watch, and her arms are coated in fine gold hair.

"So," Katya starts, "Tell me all about this drama degree of yours. Did you want to be an actor?"

Trixie rolls her eyes, "No, I spent hours of my life learning lines to prepare me for a satisfying career as an administrative assistant."

Katya bounces slightly in her seat, "But most good actors are older, aren't they? You always read about successful actors getting turned down from RADA the first time because they haven't _lived_. You should just live an outrageous life and then start going for all the sublime Judi Dench roles in your fifties. Like, ah - " Katya clicks her fingers in the air, "What's her name? The old one in Richard III!"

"Queen Margaret. It’s a good role.” Trixie tries to recall her favourite part of her monologues, “‘I had an Edward, till a Richard killed him; I had a Harry, till a Richard killed him. You had an Edward, till a Richard killed him; You had a Richard, till a Richard killed him. You had a Clarence too, and Richard killed him. From forth the kennel of your womb has crept a hellhound that hunts us all to death.’”

"Yeah, Tabs loves that one."

Trixie suppresses a shudder at what would happen if she called her own mam by her first name. 

They talk about theatre and travel for longer than Trixie realises. They hardly notice the waitress coming around all of the tables to replace the day menu with the evening ones. A screeching sound pierces the air and they both jump.

"Sorry, ladies!" shouts the waitress, "Just trying out the sound system for the DJ!" 

Katya takes Trixie's hand, "I know a place just down the road that has _amazing_ leather booths."

Trixie snorts, "Do you indeed?" 

Katya leaves a generous tip on her saucer and they make their way out into the street. The tourists all seem to have ebbed away, and the sky is a darkening blue. Trixie shoulders her overnight bag and lets Katya take her by the hand.

Katya's next choice of bar is equally stylish. It’s very black and silver, and behind the black tiled bar there's a neon lighting feature reading _GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS_. 

Katya leads Trixie down the back of the bar to the leather booths. Trixie runs her hand over it, digging her finger nail into the buttons between each pocket of leather. 

"This looks awfully familiar," she purrs. 

Katya screeches a bit, pushes Trixie's shoulder before pulling her wallet from her bag again, "What do you fancy? I think I’m going to move on to red wine."

Trixie flicks a glance to the women already sat at the bar. It doesn’t look like any of them are drinking Strongbow.

“I’ll join you, thank you,” Trixie says. 

Katya strides back to the table with a bottle under her arm and two glasses twisted up in her fingers, “The Barolo was a decent price, so I just got us a bottle.”

Katya hovers by the side of the table, seemingly weighing up whether to sit next to Trixie or opposite from her. Her eyes dart from one side of the both to the other, and Trixie pats the leather next to her.

“Sit down, Katya,” she instructs , and Katya folds her body in beside Trixie. 

Trixie sits on her hip, crossing one thigh over another so she’s crowding Katya with her thick legs. Katya immediately starts walking her fingers up Trixie’s leg from her knee, heading for the soft hem of her dress.

“I’ve been thinking,” says Katya, “What if our chemistry is totally awful? After all this talking, what if it doesn’t translate to how our bodies fit together?”

Trixie raises her eyebrow, looking down her nose at Katya, “You’re worried about that?”

“Yeah. I mean…science, pheromones, astrology. There are forces at work that we’re not cognizant of.”

Trixie hums, “It’s a possibility, sure.”

Trixie doesn’t feel like it’s much of a possibility. Her body feels like it is vibrating with pleasurable tension, a sensation that only gets worse as she gets closer and closer to Katya. She knows Katya must be feeling it too. She can see it in the way Katya’s eyes are darkening, in the way she keeps unconsciously licking her lips, the way her other hand is balled up on her leg. 

Trixie brings her hand up to the bottom of Katya’s throat, pressing in slightly with her sharp nails. She draws her hand slowly up Katya’s neck. Her neck is long and slim, and Trixie feels the tough rings of cartilage under the skin. When she reaches Katya’s firm jaw she twists her hand to pinch Katya’s chin between her thumb and index finger. Trixie is close enough to Katya that she can see her pupils swallow up the pale rims of her eyes. She can feel Katya’s breath coming quicker on her own cheek. She can already feel her eyes getting heavy lidded.

“Let’s test your hypothesis, brainbox,” Trixie murmurs to Katya. She pulls Katya in by the chin. Katya’s mouth falls open immediately, keening softly into Trixie’s. Trixie controls the kiss, keeping her tongue static and barely past Katya’s lip until Katya whimpers grow increasingly desperate. 

Trixie pulls back, and Katya’s eyes stay shut for a few seconds. Trixie admires the way the shadows play across her face, elongating her lashes and making her high cheekbones stand out all the more.

Katya’s eyes flutter open and her voice is hoarse as she asks, “Are you still coming back to mine?” 

“If I’m still invited.”

“You’re definitely invited,” Katya says, squeezing Trixie’s hand between both of hers. 

Katya is a wave that is going to crash down on Trixie. 

“And if we do a scene, do you want to block it out now or go improv?” Katya smirks as she speaks, clearly pleased with her wit.

“Nice terminology. I’ve got some ideas, maybe we could just see where it goes organically. If that’s something you’re comfortable with?”

“I feel very comfortable with you,” Katya’s voice is soft and dreamy like it was when they spoke on the phone. Trixie wonders whether she’s getting into that headspace yet, whether she’s just as wet and needy under her clothes as she was that day on the phone.

Katya’s eyes are still wide and dark, she leans her head on Trixie’s shoulder and Trixie brings her hand up to Katya’s neck again, softly stroking up and down with the tips of her nails. 

Katya stays pressed to Trixie’s side while they finish the wine, murmuring quietly between them. 

Katya points at the women at the bar and whispers to Trixie, “You must be really good at working people out by now. Tell me what their kink is.”

“Well, I usually never see the face, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Trixie scans over the first woman. She’s a tall, fat butch with a heavy shoulder bag. She's got soft blue eyes and streaks of grey at her temples. She rummages for something in the depths of her bag and Trixie spots a teacher’s planner and a large bunch of keys.

“Okay, that woman,” Trixie says, pointing at her, “She’s a tender bottom into body worship and giving super oily massages. She likes to the kiss the back of a woman’s knees. She doesn’t let just any old person fuck her, but she cries when they do. Good tears. She falls asleep as soon as she comes.”

“Awwh, cute,” says Katya, “Okay, I’m going to have a go! ”

Katya points at a woman in a long purple dress with gold rimmed glasses and bushy red hair.

Katya hums for a few seconds and then starts, “Okay, she’s your feisty redhead type. She lives in Brighton but she works in London. She likes to do a little strip tease for her lovers to that, like, sexy Indian music. Then she puts her strap-on on and lies on her back on the bed. She gets her partner to ride it slowly, giving _her_ a dance.”

Trixie pushes her fingers into the hair under Katya’s top-knot, giving her scalp a firm rub, “I like that one, good girl.” 

Katya pours out the last splash of wine in each of their glasses.

“We only need to get the Tube from Oxford Street to Pimlico,” she says.

“You live in Pimlico?” says Trixie incredulously.

Katya shrugs, “Yeah, my parents let me use their apartment while I’m finishing off my PhD.”

 _Of course they do,_ Trixie thinks. She bites back the acerbic comment that flies to her lips. To be fair with Katya, she doesn’t seem spoilt and she’s never made Trixie feel inferior. Either way, Trixie doesn’t think any of that is as important as the feeling of Katya lacing her fingers between hers as they walk to the Tube stop. 

It’s mostly dark now, but the evening is warm and the streets smell of fried food and weed. Katya holds her hand all the way to the stop and down the stairs that are littered with discarded copies of the Evening Standard and paper coffee cups. 

The screen on the platform shows that there are only six minutes until their train arrives, and Trixie bends her head to Katya, angling for a kiss.

“Hang on! Hang on!” says Katya, pulling away from Trixie and reaching into her bag. 

Katya pulls out the triangular milk jug from the first café and breaks into a triumphant grin, “Look! I got it! It would look sweet on the windowsill with a couple of daisies in it.”

Trixie takes it from her, loops the handle over her fingers and pulls Katya in for a kiss by the back of her neck. They kiss until Trixie hears the screech of the train down the track, until they’re jostled by the crowd rushing off the train and off to another platform. 

The carriage is quiet, and Katya secures them two seats next to the door. They only need to go four stops, but Katya doesn't stop chattering the whole way. There's an advert about getting _Beach Body Ready_ above the window and Katya takes exception to it. She abrasively critiques both the copy and the photography so loudly that a woman with a pram casts her a shushing look. 

Katya crosses one leg over the other and leans in to whisper in Trixie's ear, "Trixie, have you noticed the carriage swaying back and forth, back and forth?"

Trixie nods. The rhythmic motion of the train, or perhaps the half a bottle of wine and Katya’s scent, is lulling Trixie into feeling rather sleepy. 

"Well," Katya continues, "It's making me think of licking you. Right here. You could just tie my arms behind my back and let the rocking of the carriage move me into you. You wouldn’t need to do a thing. Everyone would see, but no-one would say anything. They'd just ignore me. They'd know that I was following your instructions, being who I was meant to be," Katya lowers her voice further until Trixie can practically feel it rambling, "being your submissive."

Trixie feels heat run to her cheeks and her ears. 

"Katya -"

"See, I could do your job, it's easy!"

Katya thrusts her hand straight up in the air above her hair and clicks her fingers, clearly thrilled to have flustered Trixie. She's beaming. 

In response, Trixie takes a hold of Katya's bony wrist and grinds it between the tight loop of her fingers, feeling the bones crunch. Katya winces and squirms, but casts Trixie a heated look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Loyal Bedwyr up but if you want a list of the strangest and most macabre sculptures of Wales, I have a few suggestions.
> 
> An Eisteddfod is a traditional Welsh festival of poetry and song.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beautiful Consultant Top, Thwoorple. I feel a bit like I've been watching _Breaking the Magician's Code_. 
> 
> Please do leave me some feedback, if only brief. I'm a bit nervous.

When they get to Pimlico they swipe out in unison, leave the plain brown station, and Katya takes Trixie’s hand again.

She says, “It’s only a five-minute walk but I’m on the third floor, I hope that’s alright.”

Trixie rolls her eyes, “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

All Trixie can see is endless rows of colossal townhouses set around large green squares. They each have tall box sash windows and cream, stucco façades. Trixie didn’t get through drama school without watching an Austen adaptation, and she can imagine that this is the type of house that families would have lived in, prior to calling their carriages and travelling to the country to escape the city air. 

Katya makes them turn a corner into a road of particularly intimidating buildings. Each of them has a porch held up with fat columns, matching balconies, and a pointed cast-iron fence. There are a few steps up to each glossy black door. She swears there’s one with a fucking round blue plaque.

In the porch there are a series of brass doorbells, each one marked with the name of the inhabitants. Katya points quickly at a long, complicated-looking name Trixie only gets a glimpse at before she’s pushing open the door and pulling Trixie through it. Katya jogs briskly up the stairs, leaving Trixie panting and holding on to the thick wooden bannister. 

Katya shouts merrily, "Kick your shoes off by the door, and there's a little hook for your jacket by the light switch!”

Trixie takes off her heels and sets them neatly next to Katya’s trainers. She finds a hook for her jacket, and then follows Katya into the room she disappeared into. Trixie stifles a gasp. It’s a dining room, perhaps the grandest one that Trixie has ever seen in a real home. There’s a long glass table stretching away from the door, flanked by elegant dining chairs. At the other end of the table there is an ornate mirror, reflecting Trixie’s open-mouthed stare and red wine flush back at her. Above the table there’s a gilded chandelier hanging from an ornate plastic ceiling rose, dripping with crystals. 

Katya’s voice is soft next to her ear, “This is all my parents’ taste, really. But it’s useful to have a proper dining room when they come over to eat, especially if my siblings come too.”

Trixie pushes down the abrasive response that comes to mind first. Instead she says, “It looks like something from one of the old lady magazines you get at the hairdresser.” Trixie realises belatedly that what she has said is probably nearly as bad as what she almost said and looks to Katya for her reaction. She doesn’t seem phased by it, just laughs and lifts Trixie’s overnight bag from Trixie’s shoulder. 

Katya heaves it on to her own shoulder and says, “I’ll show you the rest of the place in the morning, but shall we go straight to bed?”

Trixie freezes. 

“My room just has the day bed, but our guest room has a double, so I was thinking we could stay in there tonight,” Katya rattles off. 

Trixie stays frozen. She doesn’t quite feel ready to take charge yet. It’s easy to slip into the role of Dominatrix at work when most of the scenarios are ones that she’s rehearsed many times before, and she has no genuine interest in the people she’s playing with. But when it’s just her, just Trixie, sometimes she withers under the expectation. 

Katya places Trixie’s bag back on the floor. She shrugs her jacket off, lays it over the back of one of the dining chairs. Katya’s shoulders are freckled and layered with wiry muscles that make Trixie’s mouth water. 

Next, Katya brings her hands to her waist and slowly unfolds the waist band of those awful tracksuit bottoms down. They’re clearly too big now, and she just gives them one slight push until they’re pooling at her feet. 

Katya’s slender, but with fleshier hips than Trixie was anticipating. She wants to dig her nails into them. Her legs are criss-crossed by Katya’s fishnets, and Trixie wants to rip them to pieces with her nails too. Katya wears plain black underwear cut high in the leg, so Trixie can see her hip bone pressing against them. A tuft of wild blonde hair escapes from each side of the crotch. 

“You look lush,” Trixie whispers. She can’t stop staring. She tries to pretend that she’s someone who is confronted by beautiful women every day. 

Katya flips her crop top off in one fluid motion, and Trixie thinks her heart stops beating for a moment. 

Katya’s wearing the most beautiful harness Trixie has seen. It’s made of a complex web of thin black straps, each decorated with tiny gold studs. Her breasts are small and framed perfectly by the harness. It can’t serve any actual function, but it does look beautiful. 

“Do you like it? I had it made for me from someone I follow on Instagram. I’ve got a matching doo-dah thingy,” Katya shakes her hands vaguely over her hips and thighs, “I can get into it if you want, and you can change in here, or the bathroom, or wherever you’d be more comfortable.”

Trixie nods, scoops her bag up off the floor and follows Katya’s pointed directions to the bathroom. Katya heads in the other direction to the bedroom, and Trixie turns to catch a glimpse of her arse. There isn’t much to her knickers at the back, and Katya’s arse is high and muscular, looking spectacular underneath the fishnets. 

Trixie unpacks her underwear in the bathroom. She’s brought a pair of black hold-ups with lacy tops, black French knickers and a black corset. The corset was a sale purchase from a number of years ago, but it’s a favourite. The front of the corset is made of black mesh, but with black latex cups and a v-shaped latex panel down the middle. The back is a quilted, satiny material that conceals a bit more support for her bust. It has a corset style fastening, and when she bought it Trixie swapped the black cord out for a bright pink ribbon almost immediately. 

She pulls the lingerie on quickly, twisting to make sure that the back lies smoothly and that she doesn’t have any backrolls falling out of the side of the fabric. She grabs the flesh underneath her armpits and pushes it down as much as she can, pulling the ends of the ribbon tight to keep it all in.. 

Trixie adjusts her cleavage and takes a long look at herself. She likes what she sees. She likes the way the outline of her stomach is visible underneath the mesh, and the contrast of the shiny black latex against her pale, soft breasts. Her thighs look killer with stockings on. She plays with her hair, twisting her ringlets up again and then letting them drop over her shoulder. 

Trixie takes a deep breath and makes her way to the bedroom. It's decorated in the same style as the dining room. The bed is high and piled even higher with stacks of pillows in dove grey cases. Katya sits right in the middle, upright. She looks surprisingly innocent, wiggling her toes into the bedsheets. She's taken off the fishnets and is wearing her promised _doodah_. It’s kind of a skirt but fulfils none of the functions of a skirt. It matches her bra harness, with thin circles of leather wrapping around her waist, her hip and her mid-thigh. They all connect at the front in a loose web shape. Each of the leather strips fastens up at the sides with elegant silver buckles. 

It’s very sophisticated, and Trixie suddenly feels cheap and costumey. She worries that Katya will clock the label inside her corset, just a simple High Street brand and faded with washing. 

Katya’s hair looks lighter now she’s unwound her bun and let the top layer of hair down. She must have brushed it, because it has gone from messy curls to a cloud of frizz. Katya rakes her hands through it despairingly, "I know, my hair is ridiculous. I just brushed it. I don't know why. Just waiting and not knowing what to do with myself! I've had curly hair all my life, but I never learn."

Trixie laughs and moves closer, “It looks good. It looks like you’ve backcombed it, high fashion!” Katya twists on to her side to strike a pose, and Trixie sees that the straps curve up at the back, gathering at the waist where they’re held in a silver hoop. Her arse is exposed, only the thin strip of her underwear running between her cheeks. Trixie’s mouth runs dry.

"You look amazing, Trixie. Come here, let me touch you."

She smiles coolly, "I'll tell you when you can touch me."

Katya immediately casts her eyes down, but a small smile plays around her mouth. 

Trixie asks, "Do you have any preferred toys? I've brought some with me, but I'd like to run them past you."

Trixie reaches for her bag and pulls out the plastic washbag where she's packed her toys. She tips them out on the bed and Katya picks her way through them. Katya separates them into two piles, silently but quickly deliberating over each one. 

"These ones are all definite yeses," Katya says, laying her hand over by far the biggest pile. She reaches into her bedside cabinet and rummages around, drawing out a leather paddle with small studs around the edge, and a slim black vibrator. 

"Can I add these to the yes pile too?" Katya asks.

Trixie smiles and nods, gathers up everything in the yes pile and drops it all onto a nearby chair and kicks her bags under the bed for now. 

On the bedside cabinet there’s a little tray with a small jug of water, two matching glasses, a washcloth and a small bowl of mixed nuts and dried fruit.

Trixie rattles the bowl, “What are these for?”

“Oh,” Katya says lightly, “Sometimes I get really energetic after a scene, but sometimes I get really tired. People don’t always know how to handle it.” 

“Thank you for letting me know,” Trixie says, rubbing her hand over Katya’s bony knee, "Can you take your glasses off? I don't want them to get bashed up. But I don’t want you to feel freaked out if you can’t see."

Katya plucks off her glasses from the bridge of her nose, folds up the arms and hands them to Trixie.

"Where shall I put them? I want to be able to get them for you if you need to tap out."

"Just by the lamp is fine. I usually leave them there when I go to bed. My eyesight isn't so bad really," Katya replies.

Trixie holds the glasses in front of her face and everything gets a little bigger, "Yeah, these are only a little bit stronger than mine, and I never wear my glasses."

"I think you’d look cute in your glasses. They always look adorable on chubby cheeks," Katya says.

Trixie puts Katya's glasses under her reading lamp and then turns back to her, working her hand under the leather straps and rubbing her fingers over Katya’s bare thigh. They kiss delicately for a while, Katya moaning faintly into Trixie’s mouth. She tips her head back and Trixie takes advantage, biting over Katya’s neck roughly.

Katya tries to loop her leg over Trixie’s and grind down, but she won’t let her be so unruly. 

"Right then," Trixie intones into Katya's ear, "You're going to have to start earning what you need from me now. Can you do some waiting for me?"

Katya nods, but bites her lip.

"Is there a problem with that, Katya?" 

"I like doing that, I do. But sometimes it's tough because my mind just –“ Katya moves her hands faster and faster in circles around each other to demonstrate. Trixie catches them. 

"Is there anything that gets you in the right mindset, or helps you under, or subspace, or whatever you prefer to call it?"

Katya doesn't say anything, but tilts her face towards Trixie, and it clicks. Trixie gently caresses her cheek, pressing down just slightly on her high cheekbones. Trixie smiles in anticipation. 

"I want you kneeling for me in that corner, please. Hands on your knees, feet tucked underneath you. You can sit back on them.”

Katya moves swiftly to it, folding gracefully to her knees. 

Trixie pads over to her, looks down her nose at Katya. She shifts her hips from side to side, and watches as Katya's eyes darken at the sight. Katya leans almost imperceptibly closer to Trixie's legs, Trixie knows she must be thinking of leaning her face on the soft nylon of Trixie’s stockings. She takes a step back, and Katya's brow wrinkles at the loss of it.

"Are you ready?" She asks.

Katya nods.

Trixie estimates where Katya's sweet spot will be; not too close to her ears or her eyes. She brings her hand back and snaps it quickly forward on to Katya's cheek, the sound ringing in the high-ceilinged room for a second after it's done. 

"Thank you, Mistress."

Trixie does it again, this time a little harder.

"Thank you, Mistress."

Katya hasn't moved at all, hasn't even flinched. Her hands are perfectly still over her knees. Trixie could do this all night. She indulges herself in the thought that maybe she will, before reminding herself of the other things she’d like to do as well. 

She gives Katya a third slap and pulls Katya’s chin up, so she can see her face properly. Katya looks calmer than before, her face relaxed and serene. Katya's eyes flutter open, and Trixie is entranced by the way that her eyes are glazed and unfocussed.

"Are you there?"

Katya nods dreamily. 

"Good girl.”

Trixie grabs nipple clamps and her spider gag from the pile of toys on the chair. She brought her stick clamps with her; narrow metal sticks held together by a tight band on each end. They give a good pinch but, more importantly, she finds they’re less liable to fall off small nipples than the heavy metal ones. As Katya had already told her she had small boobs in general, Trixie thought she’d gamble on sticks over her favoured clover clamps. Trixie uses her long nails to prise the sticks apart and with her other hand holds Katya's breast still enough that she can push her nipple between them, using her thumb to keep the harness out of the way. Katya's breasts are small and hot to the touch, and Trixie can't resist squeezing them roughly between her hands. Katya moans, arching her back to push them further into Trixie.

When the first pair of sticks are clamped around Katya's nipple, Trixie starts pushing the two bands closer together.

"Say when."

She watches Katya's face as she pushes the bands together agonisingly slowly. Katya starts to wince, mouth narrowing with pain. But Katya perseveres until the bands are almost bracketing her nipple. Trixie thinks she might be overambitious but trusts her to communicate her limits. Katya’s tits are making Trixie feel wild, she’s getting so wet that she can feel it seeping into the fabric of her underwear.

Trixie fits the other clamp and can’t resist flicking the ends of the sticks with her nails. They bounce and Katya arches her back in pain as they tug on her nipples. Trixie smirks, and does it again. Next, Trixie presses her gag into Katya's mouth. She fits the metal ring behind Katya's teeth, and buckles the leather strap at her hairline. 

Trixie runs her fingers over Katya’s face. She likes the contrast between the strap and her smooth skin. "There you are,” She says soothingly, “There you are. Is your mind still nice and quiet?"

Katya nods, trying valiantly to smile around the gag that distorts her pretty mouth. 

Trixie slaps her quickly, hand whistling through the air. Katya's hands remain still on her knees. Her eyes have taken on that glazed look again.

Trixie runs her hands through Katya's frizz, “If your mind starts to wander, use your senses to bring you back to this. Concentrate on what you can feel, the smell of my perfume, what you can hear outside. Okay?"

Katya nods more forcefully this time.

Trixie walks back to the bed, reclining on the ample pillows. She grabs a book at random from the bedside cabinet. 

The book she's picked up is a collection of poetry, which pleasantly surprises her. Despite Katya's references to Shakespeare, which she had chalked up to a private education, she'd assumed that Katya was a scientist through and through. She reads a couple of the poems, letting their meaning unfurl in her head. 

Between poems, she looks up at Katya. Her nipples are little red cherries, just waiting to be bitten into. This is a test of her control as much as Katya’s. Katya’s finding it hard to keep her balance, keeps rocking forward on her knees and then catching herself. Her eyes are completely blown now, burning into Trixie. Trixie wants to wait until she can’t bear not having Katya a moment longer. 

She picks Katya's watch up off the bedside cabinet in an exaggerated manner to grab her attention, and squints at the clockface. She's got a time in mind, but she doesn't want Katya to know it. Trixie crosses her legs, hopes Katya gets a kick out of her long, heavy legs in the stockings. 

Trixie goes back to the poems but is interrupted just a few seconds later by a pathetic gurgling noise from the other side of the room. She looks up slowly, arching her eyebrow. 

"Yes?"

Katya tries to talk around the gag but it's a disaster. Drool is flowing freely from around the circular gag. There’s a river of it flowing down her willowy neck, over her clavicles, making her flat chest and the black leather shiny with it. 

"If you interrupt my reading, I'll need to punish you."

Katya nods, looks down at her knees.

Trixie sighs as loud as she can and picks the book up again. She flicks over the page so hard that it makes a satisfying cracking noise.

She barely gets through a stanza before Katya interrupts her with a tiny whimper through her nose.

“Arms above your head, Katya. Straight up.”

She obeys immediately. Trixie bends her head like she's reading again, but she looks over the rim of the pages at the wiry muscles of Katya’s arms. After a few minutes, they begin to shake. They must be sore, Trixie thinks to herself. She has to dampen a grin at the thought of this beautiful woman suffering purely for Trixie’s whims.

"Just two minutes longer, Katya. You can do it."

Trixie grabs the watch and lies it across her thigh. Its ticking seems oppressively loud in the room. She is aching for Katya so badly that each second feels like an hour, but it must be even worse for Katya. 

For the last sixty seconds she closes the book and sets it back on the cabinet. She allows herself to stare lasciviously at Katya's body, at her red face and her shaking arms.

Finally, the clock hand reaches the position Trixie wants it to be in.

"Arms down Katya. You've done really well."

Katya slowly lowers her arms, then starts rotating her shoulders to loosen them up.

Trixie swings her legs off the side of the bed and walks to Katya as quickly as she can. Katya immediately nuzzles her face into Trixie's hand. Trixie can feel both the strong, bony bridge of her nose and the obscene shape of her mouth stretched out by the metal. Trixie needs to kneel and scoop Katya to her chest, shower her with praise and kisses. But she makes herself hold out a little longer, it’s what is best for them both. 

Trixie slides two of her fingers through the accumulated drool down Katya's neck and chest, drawing swirling patterns in it. When it starts to dry up she works her way back up to Katya's mouth and pokes her fingers between the ring gag. She fucks Katya’s mouth shallowly with her fingers, trying to avoid lacerating her throat with her nails. Her fingers press down firmly on Katya's tongue, pressing it tight to the bottom of her mouth. 

"Try and say something," she hisses at Katya.

Katya tries. Trixie can tell that she's trying. It seems like she's trying to say Mistress, but she hasn't even got a hope of bringing her lips together for the first syllable. Her tongue struggles up against Trixie's fingers. 

"Go on, try again. Harder this time."

The pitch and volume of Katya's noises increases, but she has no more success with enunciating the sounds of the words.

"One more time, and then I'll take the gag out."

Katya must be trying to shout this time. Her gurgling takes on a more plaintive tone, and Trixie even feels a hot puff of air against her wrist.

Trixie withdraws her fingers, bends and presses her lips over Katya’s open mouth in a parody of a kiss. 

“Go on, kiss me!” She taunts.

Katya’s lips flex, but she’s unable to do anything other than moan. Trixie’s cunt pulses when she feels Katya fruitlessly struggle to kiss back. 

Trixie open the buckle at the back of Katya’s head and casts the gag down onto the floor. She massages Katya’s jaw lightly with her fingertips. Katya sags against Trixie’s legs, breathing hard. 

“You want a present for being so good?”

Katya looks up at her with wide eyes, mouth parted and still slick with spit. She nods.

As soon as Katya’s head becomes a still target again, Trixie cracks her across the face. This time, Katya doesn’t expect it and her face turns sideways sharply. Katya bends her neck and pants for a couple of seconds, before looking back up at Trixie. She looks dizzier than she did before, staring blankly at Trixie.

“Oh. You’re really there now, aren’t you?” 

Katya just grins in response, a sunny one that stretches pretty much from ear to ear. Her curls are a halo around her face.

Trixie can’t quite believe that she’s got as lucky as she has. Before, if someone had told her that she would meet up with a caller, she would have laughed. And if they’d told her that the caller would be clever, funny, beautiful, and respond like this, she would have laughed and told them to fuck off. And yet, here she is. God, she hopes this isn’t a one-night thing. She shakes that thought out of her head, she needs to focus on Katya right now. 

She pulls Katya up and supports her and her Bambi-like legs, so she can sit on the edge of the bed. She’s still got that goofy grin on her face, staring at Trixie like she’s got the answer to world peace. When Trixie turns and sits beside her, Katya makes a clumsy grab at her breasts.

“You’re so gorgeous, Mistress. Trixie. Please can I touch you now? I want to make you feel good.”

She bats her eyelashes at Trixie and it is ridiculously endearing. Especially with the bright red mark blooming across her cheekbone. Trixie lightly loops her fingers around Katya’s wrists.

“You can touch me in a minute, we’ve got to take the clamps off first. Aren’t they burning you?”

Katya looks down at the long metal sticks each side of her nipple, her gaze vague. 

Trixie smiles to see her out of it. God, Katya is the dream. She takes hold of Katya's nipple again and pulls the two bands apart.

Katya yowls immediately, twisting and writhing on the side of the bed.

"Fuck! Hurts!" 

There are two red marks either side of Katya's nipples. They haven't broken the skin, but they are angry looking. Trixie leans down and takes Katya's small red nipple into her mouth, sucking it gently. The warmth of Trixie's mouth seems to amplify the pain, Katya's hips jerk against the bed as if she's trying to stop herself from just standing up. 

Trixie lets go of her first nipple and moves to the other. As Trixie's hand closes around her small breast Katya flinches, clenches her teeth together.

"We can wait a while, if you like," suggests Trixie mildly, but she punctuates it with a flick to the metal. 

Katya shakes her head, and Trixie releases her second nipple. Katya's second yowl is longer and louder, ending in a series of little sobs.

Trixie takes both breasts between her hands, rubs them softly. 

"There, there you are. Better now," she coos while Katya shudders in pain radiating from her breasts and outwards. She really fusses over Katya’s breasts, peppering them with little closed mouth kisses and sucks.

"Thank you, Mistress," breathes Katya.

Trixie takes a look at Katya’s face; sweat pools above her high cheekbones on her temples, and the skin there is jumping with the pulsing of a vein under the surface. The baby hairs around Katya’s face are wet, too, and matted to her cheeks. She’s looks ruined already, but Trixie is far from done. 

“Back on your knees, Katya. You deserve another little treat.”

Katya’s knees are hitting the floor before Trixie has even finished talking. She looks so eager that it makes Trixie feel tender, and she lightly pats the cloud of Katya’s blonde frizz. She works her French knickers down over her hips, so she’s left in just her corset and stockings. 

“Put your tongue out,” Trixie says as she spreads her legs either side of Katya’s thighs. She squats slightly so Katya’s mouth is a little closer to her cunt, although not so close that Katya could reach it without working for it. 

Katya’s eyes widen hugely, and Trixie suddenly realises what she thinks Trixie might mean.

“No, not that. Not on your posh wood flooring, and not on a first date!” She can’t help giving Katya a flicker of a wink and a smile, and Katya returns them. 

Trixie locks her hands behind Katya’s head, and draws Katya’s face up and towards her aching pussy. Katya whimpers with want and Trixie feels like doing the same. She holds Katya’s head still, just a couple of inches away from her aching cunt. She wants to crush down onto Katya’s face and scream, but she wants to tease them both for a little while longer. She’s dripping. She has been for hours. Her cunt must be so swollen and glistening and beautiful by now. When she thinks about how it must look from Katya’s angle, complete with pendulous droplets of her wetness, she almost wishes she could swap positions with her. 

Then she loses patience. She brings Katya’s face to her and groans loudly as soon as it makes contact. She can't stop her hips from bucking wildly. The noise of her wetness slapping along Katya's cheeks makes her eyes blur. Her knees are shaking already. 

She stands up straight, taking her pussy away from Katya's reach. Katya whines immediately, instinctively sticks her tongue out and pants for Trixie. Trixie has to stop herself from squashing Katya’s mouth back into her cunt. Instead, Trixie grabs Katya by the very back of her tongue and lowers her hips back to Katya's mouth. She keeps a firm grip on Katya's tongue and uses it to move the tip of it up and down against her clit. Katya lets herself be moved, keeping both her body and her tongue floppy and pliable while Trixie rubs Katya's tongue against her clit like it's a vibrator.

"You like that? You like being my toy?" 

Katya tries to answer her, but the vice like grip of Trixie's fingers around her tongue makes it impossible. Katya struggling to speak against her hand is making Trixie throb, and she knows that she needs to get them both back on the bed before she loses the strength in her legs, or just fucks Katya's face without any thought or consideration. 

She leads them backwards, until she's seated against the pillows with Katya lying on her front between her legs. Katya immediately engrosses herself in kissing over Trixie's big thighs.

"Fuck, your legs are even more amazing than I was imagining," Katya whispers, nuzzling her nose into Trixie’s soft flesh.

Trixie wipes Katya's hair back from her face, "Come on, after all that talk about you licking me, I want to experience these skills."

Katya gets the spark of mischief back in her eyes, "I think you'll find that _you_ did most of the talking, and I paid you for the privilege!" She nips at Trixie's skin to punctuate her point. 

"Katya…” Trixie chides, letting her head flop back on the pillows. She hopes she looks decadent, like an old film star sunbathing. 

Katya slithers down the bed and Trixie allows Katya to indulge herself for a bit. She should probably drag Katya back to her cunt by the hair, but she enjoys the worshipful way Katya strokes over her legs in the nylon fabric and licks where the lace at the top of her stockings meets her pale skin. 

By the time she has made her way back up Trixie's thighs, Trixie is seconds away from begging. She wonders whether Katya can read it in her increasingly ragged breathing, the tremble in her hands where they lay on the bedsheets. 

Finally, Katya does what she is supposed to be doing. Trixie gives an involuntary shout at the first touch of Katya’s tongue to her cunt. She starts by laving over Trixie's clit painfully slowly, before working her tongue in circles around it. She lets Trixie get used to a pattern and then changes it; she speeds up the rhythm, or adds suction, or switches the direction of her circles. It’s impossibly good, and Trixie is babbling. Her back is arching. Her eyes keep rolling back in her head. It feels as though all of her skin is on fire. She wants relief, and she keeps clenching down to hasten the sensation along but there’s nothing there.

“Katya, your fingers. You need to put them inside me now. Fuck,” Trixie manages to gasp out. 

Katya pushes two in straight away and Trixie moans long and loud from the bottom of her belly, the sound disappearing into the high ceiling. Katya can’t fuck her hard or quick because her own jaw gets in the way, but Trixie squeeze down around her fingers and it amplifies the sensations. She’s so close, and the vibrations of Katya groaning are shoving her even closer to the edge. Then Katya pushes her fingers just a little bit deeper and she’s coming, pumping her hips onto Katya’s face. 

When she comes down a bit, she realises that she’s sweating. She can feel it dripping down her back, over her top lip. She struggles to sit up in bed and clumsily pulls the ribbons of her corset loose, dragging it over her head and dropping it over the other side of the bed. 

She forgets, until she sees Katya’s beaming grin, that she hasn’t get been fully naked in front of Katya yet. She's too euphoric to give much of a fuck about the way her boobs fall apart when she's on her back, or the stretchmarks underneath her belly button, or how her stomach bounces with her heaving breaths.

"Can I touch you?" Katya asks, from where she's leaning her head on Trixie's thigh.

"Of course."

" _Yes_.” 

And Trixie is suddenly covered in Katya's hands, pinching and pulling over her breasts and her stomach. Her nipples are still swollen after orgasm and Katya is gentle with them, only using her lips to work over them gently. 

Trixie smiles at the ceiling, allows Katya free reign until she's come back to herself a bit. 

"Katya, wait now," She commands, and Katya's fingers still. 

"I think you deserve another prize after making me feel so good. Why don't you take off your underwear and roll over on to your stomach?"

Katya does so eagerly, and Trixie reaches to grab the paddle that Katya chose from her own collection. 

She runs her hands over the equipment. It's thin and bendy, perfect if Katya is someone who likes a stinging pain more than a thudding pain. If she likes the clamps and the slaps, that's probably true. The leather is soft and supple, and although the paddle itself is thin the leather is not. It's not just a cheap leather coating wrapped around a cheaper inner. The studs around the edge don't look particularly punishing, but they will sting. 

Trixie instructs Katya that she doesn't need to thank her after every blow, and she can just relax into the bed to enjoy her treat. Katya does relax at first, moaning softly every time Trixie brings the paddle down firmly onto her arse. 

Soon, Katya is less relaxed. She buries her face in the pillow, letting out a series of yelps and whimpers that are only partly muffled. She clenches up her toes when Trixie lands a particularly hard blow. Trixie finds it overwhelmingly cute, and she can't resist hitting a bit harder just to see Katya’s sweet little toes curl up. 

She brings the paddle down over and over again, and then pauses to give Katya a rest and see whether she's marked. There's a faint outline of the paddle, although it's still quite blotchy and indistinct at the edges. The studs have given Katya darker marks, and Trixie bets they'll bruise if she perseveres.

Trixie starts again, and Katya yells into the pillow. Her knees lock, and her hands ball up at her sides. But despite this, she still arches her back and pushes her arse up for Trixie.

Trixie came hard. Harder than she can remember coming with anyone in some time, but watching Katya take it so well is making her ache for Katya’s touch again. 

"Mistress..." Katya whimpers.

Trixie stops immediately, "Are you done?" 

Katya turns her head on the pillow, her nose is red, and her eyes are watery. She doesn't answer Trixie but bites her lip instead.

"It hurts," her voice sounds wobbly.

"We can stop," reassures Trixie, softening her stance so Katya knows she means it.

Katya worries her lip again, "I want you to push me."

"Okay. I think you can do some more. I think you can be _really good_ for me."

Katya gives Trixie a small smile and turns her face back into the pillow. 

Trixie gets a few more blows in. Katya's skin is starting to get little red pin-pricks under the surface. She’ll definitely be left with a striking bruise in the morning. 

"Mistress," Katya whimpers again. 

This time, Trixie strokes over Katya’s shoulder, "I think a couple more would be really nice, Katya. Just a couple. You want to make the most out of your treat, don’t you? You earned it."

Trixie brings the paddle down hard, and Katya yelps. Trixie keeps it going a few more times, but when she hears a series of hiccupy sobs from the pillow, she drops the paddle and sits herself down next to Katya’s head. 

Katya raises her head and her eyes are even more watery now. Her eyes are still mostly swallowed up by her pupils, but the iris around it is an even more striking shade of green. Katya's nose is a bit snotty, and Trixie enjoys the mess of it before she gets a tissue and wipes it away for her. 

“Can I have a glass of water?” Katya asks hoarsely. 

Trixie pours her one, and as she drinks it Trixie inspects her marks. She presses on them to make Katya jump and then laugh at herself. When she gets bored of that, she scratches across them with her nails to make Katya shiver. 

Trixie moves her fingers lower, using the pads of her fingers to lightly tease up and down over Katya’s labia. Her vulva is as pretty as the rest of her, with pink inner lips peeking out and wetness seeping out around them. 

“What do you want?”

“Will you please fuck me? Mistress, I really need it.” 

“Hold the back of your knees, I want to see you.”

Katya reaches down and grabs her knees, pulling them up to her chest. Trixie can just about see the red marks she made on the bottom of her bum cheeks. She also gets an amazing view of Katya’s cunt. She is going to fuck Katya, but she can’t resist leaning down for a few teasing kisses first. Her clit looks swollen and painful, and as soon as she touches her lips to it Katya’s whole body jumps, and her grip on the back of her knees almost falters.

“Careful,” Trixie warns, and Katya grapples to secure her knees again. 

Trixie goes back to the yes-pile and retrieves Katya’s vibrator. It’s black and the end both curves up and bulges like the root of a flower. She flicks it on and it buzzes quietly in her fist. 

She seats herself cross-legged between Katya's spread legs. At first, she teases up and down Katya's folds, running it over the root of her clit and then back down to tease her entrance. Katya's already whining, canting her hips up and wiggling her toes.

"Please, Mistress. Please fuck me," she begs.

Trixie pushes the vibrator in easily. It's a slender one, the sort of thing designed to look discrete and stylish in a professional woman’s hand luggage. Katya still gasps gratifyingly when it bottoms out, and Trixie tries a few different angles to get the curve at the end to hit the places Katya needs it to hit. 

Katya's smooth stomach is bunched up with the strain of holding the back of her knees as well as bending her neck forward and Trixie badly wants to bite the tiny rolls, but she doesn't know if she's got the co-ordination to do that and fuck Katya at the same time. 

Katya's already desperate, moving her hips as much as she can in this awkward position. She's red in the face, making little feathery noises as Trixie thrusts the vibrator inside her. Katya's shaking. The hands gripping the backs of her knees are shaking. Her calves, either side of Trixie's head, are shaking. She's making the whole bed shake, and Trixie is drunk on the power of it. 

Katya keens so high that she's sure dogs outside must be looking towards their window, and then shrieks, "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."

It seems to be her mantra now, because she keeps on chanting it as Trixie fucks her. She says it faster and faster and Trixie matches her rhythm to it. And Katya’s hair is matting with sweat again, sticking to the sides of her face. Trixie really wants to wipe it out of her face because it must be annoying, but she can't stop fucking her. It's all she wants to do now, like it's her job, fucking Katya and making her grit her teeth and making the sweat run down the side of her neck like the drool did earlier. Katya’s thighs are so tense now, she must be about to come.

Katya squeezes out, "Please may I touch my clit mistress?"

Trixie pauses, slows her thrusts.

"But I like watching you like this," she bargains. She continues to thrust slowly in and out. It's clearly not fast or hard enough. She looks down and watches the pulse of Katya's muscles around her opening as they try and pull the vibrator in by themselves.

"I'll bend my leg up by myself, Mistress. I'm strong!" Katya wails, and Trixie gives in to her request with a little nod and a kiss on the side of her shin. 

Katya keeps to her side of the bargain, keeping her leg up without supporting it as she rubs hard and fast at her clit. 

"You can come any time you need," says Trixie. 

Katya nods frantically, rubbing in faster and faster circles. 

Trixie leans down and spits over her clit, blowing it hard from her lips. It’s white with froth and lands heavily over Katya’s pussy and fingers, and that seems to be the thing that finishes her off. She screams, kicking her legs wildly either side of Trixie’s face. 

"Trixie, fuck. That was amazing," Katya pants. 

Trixie flops down next to her, gathering Katya into her breasts.

“God, I could definitely come again. You’re so hot,” Trixie whispers into the cloud of Katya’s hair. She twines their legs together, manoeuvres them so she can grind on Katya’s tanned thigh. 

Katya makes a guttural noise that Trixie feels, more than hears, and then hisses, “ _Use me to get yourself off,_ ” into Trixie’s hair. 

An ugly thought strikes Trixie, “Wait. What the fuck is the time?”

Katya throws a hand out of the bed and gropes for her phone, pressing at it clumsily to make it light up. The answer makes Trixie groan.

“We really shouldn’t, should we?”

“We could…” answers Katya, trailing her hand down over Trixie’s body. But she’s already yawning, eyes drooping. 

“No, it’s fine. There’s always the morning. You did so well, Katya. Do you need anything from your nightstand?”

Katya mumbles no, and then promptly falls asleep with her hand wedged firmly under Trixie’s left tit. Trixie can’t stop herself from gently brushing the hair from Katya’s face, and kissing her nose. 

When Trixie wakes up, it’s with a sense of disappointment that Katya is not near her. She’s alone, in the middle of the big bed. In the daylight the room looks even more elegant and intimidating, except for the random bits of bondage equipment and lingerie strewn around the room.

She slips on a comfortable t-shirt she brought with her and wanders out into the hall. The door opposite the guest room is closed but there’s a shaft of bright sunlight falling on the floor of the end of the corridor and Trixie heads towards it.

It’s obviously Katya’s bedroom, she recognises the heavy wooden day bed from the description over the phone. It’s much more the sort of room that Trixie would expect a young, eccentric sybarite to have, with quirky mirrors and embroidered throws. 

Katya herself is sat at the desk in a patch of sunlight. She’s bent over a heavy looking textbook, one hand scrunched in her hair and her glasses almost slipping off the end of her nose. She’s got post it notes pressed all over her other arm, each one covered in dense black scribbles.

“Bore da,” Trixie starts. 

“Bore da!” Enthuses Katya, “I learnt that one! Sut wyt ti, Trixie?”

“Da iawn, diolch. Sut wyt ti, Katya?”

Katya screws up her pointy noise, “Uhhhhh, how do you say, ‘Great thanks! I got my brains fucked out by a fucking babe last night, and I’ve written 800 words this morning?’”

“Rwy'n wych, diolch,” Trixie wracks her brain, “Cefais fy, uh, brainiau ffuckio outio…” 

Katya roars, and a post-it note falls off her arm and onto the floor, “I don’t think that’s real Welsh!”

“No, it’s not! But most Welsh verbs end in ‘io’,” Trixie supplies.

Katya nods thoughtfully, but then the conversation fizzles out. Trixie thinks she must be comparing Welsh to all the other languages that she speaks, and that Trixie doesn’t. Through the window, Trixie can hear what sounds like two women pushing prams and chatting. She doesn’t know quite what to say to get them back on track. 

“I missed you,” Trixie admits, scratching awkwardly at her thigh. She still stands in the doorway, leaning her arm against it to make it feel less artificial. 

Katya holds her arm out and Trixie crosses the room, letting Katya press both arms around her and bury her face in Trixie’s stomach.

Katya pulls back, “I’m sorry I left you. I needed to get on with my thesis and I wasn’t sure how long you’d like to sleep in.”

“Right. Well, I should probably shower,” Trixie trails off, unsure what the protocol here is.

Katya looks over the post-its stuck to her arm and starts pulling them off, transferring them to the pages of notes that she’s made, “I’ve got quite a lot done this morning, so I can probably take a break for a few hours. If you want to stay a bit…” Katya’s inflection rises at the end. Her hair is wild, and her eyes are bright behind her frames, and Trixie is still not over how gorgeous she is. 

Trixie nods, “Yeah, that would be lush. Thank you.”

Katya smiles toothily, “Awesome. Go back to bed and I’ll meet you there shortly.”

Trixie makes her way back to the bedroom and spends a few minutes separating her own things from Katya’s and folding them away neatly in her bag. She hangs Katya’s leather lingerie on the back of the chair and slots the paddle back in the drawer it came from. She leaves the vibrator in the _to wash_ pile. 

There’s still no sign of Katya and she climbs back into bed, picks up the same book of poetry from yesterday.

Eventually, the bedroom door creaks open again. Katya’s holding a tea tray between her arms with a large tea pot, two mugs, last night’s stolen milk jug and a rack of toast. 

She lays it down on the bed next to Trixie with a little flourish, then proceeds to pour Trixie a cup and set it on the coaster on the cabinet. 

As well as the toast, Katya has brought Trixie two tiny bowls of marmalade and jam. Katya carefully hands Trixie a floral tea plate, a small silver knife and a cotton napkin. Then she kneels, on the floor next to the bed. Trixie waits breathlessly for a moment, unsure about whether or not she should draw Katya’s attention to the fact that there is actually plenty of room in the bed. Then the penny drops. She takes a longer look at Katya. She’s looking at her knees, but she has an enigmatic smile playing around her mouth.

Trixie reaches down and works Katya’s earlobes between her index finger and thumb, “You’re such a good girl, thank you for my breakfast.”

She slathers her toast with butter and jam, and then eats it with utter disregard for Katya. She holds the book open with one hand, eats the toast with the other. Katya waits in perfect silence. 

When she’s finished her first slice she turns to Katya, “Do you want your breakfast now?”

Katya smiles, and Trixie spreads her slice with butter and marmalade, making sure it reaches every corner. 

“I want you to come eat it up here with me. I need a cwtch.” 

Katya clambers into the bed next to Trixie, tucking herself tightly into Trixie’s side. She pokes her nose into Trixie’s armpit, and Trixie can feel her snuffling around there. She must smell of sweat, but after last night’s exertions she feels entitled to. Trixie loops her arm around Katya’s shoulders, uses the tips of her finger to pull up her nightie to see the damage Trixie did last night. She can only see a small sliver of Katya’s right bum-cheek. It looks like most of the redness has faded. Only a couple of the very darkest spots are turning purple. Trixie wishes it wasn’t weird to take photographs of the bruising. She’d like to go back and look at it throughout the week, click on to the photos whenever she feels particularly soulless or invisible. 

“Whatcha wanna do?” Katya mumbles around a mouthful of toast.

“Dunno. Eat simple carbohydrates and cwtch. Shower…in a minute now. Get a proper look at my lovely marks on your bum,” Trixie suggests.

Katya makes a happy noise around the bread in her mouth, and then leans over to root around in her other bedside cabinet for something. She pops back up and throws a jumble of red rope into Trixie’s lap. There’s meters and meters of it, all knotted and tangled up in itself. 

“You could help me sort this out, maybe? And then help me into it. If you don’t know any good ties, there’s a banging Youtuber I can show you,” Katya beams at Trixie, her lips covered in breadcrumbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head, Katya is wearing something from Leather Coven.
> 
> Bore da - Good morning  
> Sut wyt ti - How are you?  
> Da iawn, diolch - Very good, thank you  
> Cwtch - like a cuddle but sooo much better.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please beware the new tags. There is pretty full-on watersports in this chapter.
> 
> Also, there's a playlist at the beginning of the first chapter now!

Katya sits cross-legged in the park between her flat and the river. She balances her laptop across her knees and enjoys the prickling sensation of the sun on her neck. She’s almost finished her thesis, and her supervisor has privately assured her that she’ll be passing her Viva with minimal corrections. She’s made some enquiries about opportunities in her field, and she’s confident that as soon as she passes her PhD, she’ll be able to walk into the role of her choice. It sounds cocky, but she’s already had enquiries from some agencies that specialise in recruiting engineers. She’s keeping them guessing, giving each agency oblique hints about how much other companies are willing to pay for her expertise. 

Katya had moved Trixie in just a few months after they began dating. She had soon become bored of schlepping herself across to Trixie’s place in zone four every other night, and Trixie was delighted to move herself into Katya’s parents’ Georgian townhouse. It was the perfect plan. They were able to sleep pressed up against each other every night, and Trixie was saving so much in rent that she was able to give up her soulless office job. She stays on the chatline, working from home while Katya holes herself up in the study and works on her thesis. Katya has always had her best ideas between 11pm and 3am, and luckily that is when Trixie’s line gets busiest. 

Katya cooks them late night suppers; buttery gnocchi with rocket, or roast chickpea salads with fresh pomegranate seeds scattered over the top. They sleep late in the mornings, snooze all the way through the business people power-walking to the Tube station and the nannies rolling prams down the pavement an hour or so later. They manage to make each other laugh all day, and soon have a wealth of in-jokes to draw upon together.

On some nights, Trixie eats her supper while she’s on the phone to a customer, with Katya lying naked in her lap, hand feeding her. Katya likes to listen to Trixie’s put-on phone voice, and the filthy things that her clients beg her to say. Trixie will sometimes let Katya touch herself on the floor as she listens in. Katya lies prone at Trixie’s feet, back arching on the carpet. If she moans too loudly, Trixie will run one of her broad feet up and over Katya’s body, to press the sole of it firmly over Katya’s mouth. Trixie will describe in vivid detail the process of whipping a man until he bleeds, all the while while staring Katya dead in the eyes, tracing her mouth with her big toe. 

Now Katya is coming to the end of her PhD and Trixie is also starting to look for work. The golden age of the two of them spending their late-mornings on the sofa watching _Cash In The Attic_ are coming to an end. Trixie has decided that she’s going to become an estate agent, and Katya can’t imagine anything more perfect for her. Her round face and unassuming accent are the ideal foil to her ruthless saleswomanship. It’ll be a be an awkward one to explain to her friends; dating an estate agent is much less impressive than dating a Dominatrix. 

Trixie doesn’t know it yet, but Katya is going to marry her someday. She knows the dress she wants to wear. It’s white silk with raw edges and a neckline low enough to show off the little dip between her abs. Katya can’t imagine Trixie in anything other than a bedazzled meringue. Her complete lack of taste makes Katya smile, which is how she knows she’s in love. Katya is going to take Trixie’s name, become Dr Mattel. She imagines the name as a collar in plain sight. It will mark her as Trixie’s even in the halls of her Oxford college and her father’s box at Stamford Bridge. 

But for today, she needs to finish this chapter. It’s not easy when Trixie is so close and so available. She’s lying on her front in a floppy white hat and a blue sundress, and Katya can’t take her eyes off the way Trixie’s breasts are almost falling out of the thin material. Trixie has been pulling up shreds of grass and scattering them on Katya’s knees, laughing every time that Katya brushes them off.

She types _FUCK OFF, DICKHEAD_ into her thesis and highlights it in yellow.

“Hey, Trix. Could you look at this a second?”

Trixie shuffles forward and squints at the screen for a second before she sees it, “No. You are the dickhead, Dr Zingawallawalla. We’ve been in the park for an hour now and you’ve done nothing but ignore me.”

“I’m working,” says Katya shortly, “Why don’t you go and get us an ice-cream?”

Trixie’s face lights up, and she starts rummaging in her bag for her purse immediately. 

Trixie disappears off to the ice-cream hut at the far end of the park, and Katya tries to concentrate on at least finishing this section of her chapter before they head back to the flat.

“Kat-ee-yah,” booms Trixie’s voice from across the grass, “Can yew believe that they haven’t got rum and raisin, like? I’ve had to get fuckin’ raspberry ripple!”

Katya represses a laugh at Trixie’s accent, at the way strangers look up when they hear it. She loves the way Trixie can add at least one syllable to any given word, and how the extent to which she rolls her R’s seems to increase in proportion with how annoyed she is.

Katya takes the cone from her, “This looks increds, honestly.”

You can’t fault this part of London for its up-market snacks. Trixie has got them each a mountain of ice-cream, crammed into a waffle cone and topped with a sprinkle of dehydrated raspberries. It’s not the cheap shit; it’s at least 80% double cream and Katya is living for it. 

Katya can’t help eating hers methodically, rotating it on her tongue until the mound becomes a fine point. Then she starts pressing the flat of her tongue into it, trying to shape it into a hexagon. By contrast, Trixie mouths pornographically at the side of her ice-cream until it’s dribbling down her chin. Trixie manages to eat her ice-cream in about half the time that Katya does, and making twice the mess. 

"The thing about the park is that it's great until you need a piss," says Trixie, smoothing her dress out in a crescent shape on the grass.

Katya can't help her eyebrow twitching up. She doesn’t even need to say anything, Trixie will know why she finds it amusing. 

Trixie smirks and slips easily into the voice she uses for work, "Would you like that? Me taking your laptop away and pushing you back on the grass. Then settling on my knees above you, smoothing my pretty little skirt over your head and just _letting go._ "

Katya groans softly, "You know I would."

The amusement dies in her throat, replaced with a hazy sort of arousal. 

Trixie continues "What would be better; people looking at you and then walking away in shock and horror? Or people walking past and telling me what a good girl you must be?"

Katya struggles up on to her elbows, "The latter, definitely the latter."

Sometimes she finds it hard to reconcile with her feminist views, but the idea of her PhD and her bodily autonomy coming second to Trixie’s need to piss turns her on so much that sweat breaks out across her palms. Sometimes she dreams of a world where it is acceptable to submit to Trixie in public. She knows there are all sorts of practical and ethical considerations that would make it near impossible, but she can dream. They have been to Torture Garden once or twice, but Trixie moaned all night about both being the only Domme wearing pink, and the price of the drinks.

Trixie smiles and hums to herself, straightens the brim of her hat. She looks so wholesome, like a girl in a musical. Katya can imagine her springing to her feet and singing a musical number while dancing on the rim of a fountain in the middle of the park. 

"You'd be _so_ good for me. Everyone walking past would be jealous, wishing they had a girl like you to help them," Trixie pauses to scrutinise Katya’s reaction, "Come on, let's go home."

Katya grins as she clicks her laptop shut and folds her books back in her bag. It's only a short walk back to the flat, but Katya can feel the anticipation unfurling in her stomach with every step. 

Trixie lets them into the main foyer of their building, and she walks them both up the stairs with a hand on the small of Katya's back. The touch of her finger burns Katya’s skin, and by the time she gets to the top step she’s feeling dizzy with want. 

When Trixie lets them both in the flat, Katya waits by the door as she usually does these days. In the hall there’s a chest-of-drawers from India where her parents stored all manner of junk like allen keys and old batteries. Since Trixie moved in, they’ve been storing her collar in one of the small drawers so that Katya can put it on as soon as they get home. 

Trixie uncoils the thin strip of brown leather and buckles it at the back of Katya’s neck. It’s soft and worn with use and Katya loves the feel of it on her skin. Trixie accidentally catches some of Katya’s hair in the brass buckle and Katya flinches. She picks the hair out strand by strand and leans down to kiss it better, kissing up Katya’s neck until she shivers.

Trixie leads Katya through the sun-drenched flat by the hand until they are standing in their bedroom. Some months ago, they moved permanently into the guest room with the double bed, leaving Katya’s room as a study. 

“Take your clothes off,” Trixie says softly, and leaves as Katya strips, reappearing a few minutes later with a glass of orange juice in one hand and a tea-plate of ginger biscuits in the other.

“Would you rather do this in the bathroom or in here?” Trixie asks.

“Here, please.”

“Here?” Trixie pops her hip and rests her hand on it. She raises her eyebrow at Katya, “You realise that I’m trusting you by letting you do it here? I don’t want you to waste any, and I’ll be livid if any gets on the sheets.

Katya nods desperately, “I’ll be good.” Her brain is clouding with the need to be good for Trixie. 

Trixie looks at her coolly and says, “Lean back on the bed, Kat. Your side of the bed.”

Katya lies back, fingers laced together over her ribs. 

Trixie strips off her dress first and tosses it to the floor. She doesn’t wear a bra underneath, and Katya immediately wants to reach out for her breasts. She manages to restrain herself.

Next, Trixie peels her knickers down her thighs and kicks those across the room too.

“Do you need me to get you into to the right headspace?” Trixie asks.

Katya shakes her head. Sometimes she likes Trixie to get her in the place where tasting almost any part of Trixie feels like the highest honour. Trixie will wind her up until she’s whining for the chance to suck her fingers, ecstatic when Trixie bends to spit directly into Katya’s mouth. But she also likes Trixie taking Katya’s submission for granted, asserting her own dominance with almost no preamble. 

Trixie nods shortly and kneels on to the bed. 

It’s been a hot, sticky day and Katya can smell Trixie’s cunt even before she’s properly straddled Katya’s face. She has a Pavlovian response to it; the second the scent wafts over to her, her mouth starts watering. 

Trixie kneels over her and Katya takes a moment just to appreciate Trixie’s cunt. She likes the way Trixie’s hood wraps around her clit like a monk in robes. She likes the way that the tips of Trixie’s labia are brown, and the subtle pink-to-brown gradient of the whole shebang.

Katya interrupts her own thoughts, “Did you actually need to….”

“Yes,” Trixie hisses, “I just feel put on the spot.”

Katya can’t help laughing at that, and it bounces the mattress up and down.

“Stop it!” laughs Trixie, “Just let me think about waterfalls or something for a bit.” 

And as Trixie relaxes a bit, Katya sees a clear droplet gather between Trixie’s clit and her hole that wasn’t there before. Katya raises her neck off the bed and licks them away, getting in a couple of circular swipes around Trixie’s clit for good measure. She sucks the hood, and Trixie’s hips buck down on to her face. She puts her mouth to Trixie and opens it as wide as possible, until the tendons in her jaw are screaming. 

The stream starts before she properly notices. It arcs to the back of her mouth and slides straight down before she can even smell or taste it, just feels the pulse of it hitting the back of her throat. But then Trixie’s stream becomes fiercer, until it’s a deluge filling Katya’s mouth. She starts to fall deeper into the headspace of being good for Trixie, feeling lucky to serve her. Katya wants it badly, needs it.

Katya waits until it’s filling her mouth up to the teeth and she feels a moment of panic where she thinks she’s missed her chance to swallow. Katya forces herself to gulp down as much as she can, as quickly as she can, to empty her mouth out for the next mouthful. Trixie won’t stop for Katya to swallow, and she has to be quick enough that she doesn’t miss any. A tiny dribble forces itself out of Katya’s mouth and slips down behind her ear and neck. 

The taste is salty, earthy and bitter. After three long swallows, Katya starts to feel a bit sick. She still wants to prove herself, trusting Trixie to know her limits. Trixie fills her mouth one more time before she stops. She doesn’t move from being atop Katya. She just starts moving her hips more insistently against Katya's face. Her pussy is slippery and wet and Katya can't quite get enough, straining with her neck and her stomach muscles to press her face closer to it. 

Katya puts her arms around Trixie's arse as best as she can, squeezing both cheeks rhythmically and forcing Trixie even closer to Katya's mouth. Trixie is wet, getting wetter and Katya is still needy for it. So lucky to be swallowing down what Trixie has to give her. She's moaning against Trixie's clit, then sucking her labia into her mouth with a loud smacking sound. It doesn't take Trixie long to come. She grips Katya's knees and groans long and low into the bedsheets. 

She moves herself off Katya and helps Katya sit up. Katya can feel the contents of her stomach slosh around, and the feeling of nausea returns.

Trixie coaxes her into the bathroom, she sits on the toilet and starts to pee again.

Katya frowns in confusion, "Didn't you just - ?"

"Mate, I needed to pee _so bad_. If I'd have given you any more I would have drowned you," Trixie reaches her hand out towards Katya and pulls her into Trixie. Katya perches herself on one of Trixie's chunky thighs. 

"You were my perfect girl, alright?" She says softly, brushing Katya's hair behind her ear. In the melee, Katya’s collar has got off-centre on her neck and Trixie tenderly tugs the D-Ring at the front around, so it sits precisely in the middle of Katya’s neck. Katya can’t help preening under Trixie’s careful grooming. 

Katya hops off Trixie’s lap to brush her teeth before they return to bed. She replays Trixie's quiet words in her head and her feeling of accomplishment grows. She feels light and giddy, can't help giggling aloud when Trixie trips over the tiny step to the bathroom on their way back to the bedroom. 

Katya stops by the side of the bed to let Trixie get in first, and then climbs in almost directly on top of her. She adores Trixie’s body and she writhes against it, feeling like a cat enjoying a patch of sunlight. 

"I want to lick you again," she whispers into Trixie’s ear.

"Katya. Give me a second, please -" Trixie starts.

Katya bats her lashes at Trixie and gives her a winning smile.

"Oh, okay then," Trixie concedes with a smug smile of her own. 

She guides Katya's head back down between her legs. Trixie’s clit is still swollen, and Katya steers clear of it for a little while. She peppers kisses up and down Trixie's lips instead, nuzzling the fat bulge of her mons before dipping back down again. 

She pushes two fingers inside of Trixie and can't help groaning at how the inside is just as swollen as her clit. She bends her fingers up and feels the almost sponge-like texture pressing back against her fingers.

Katya lazily pumps them in and out of Trixie until they're coated, and then brings them to the side of her mouth. She pushes them in between her teeth, scraping off the wetness inside her mouth. She doesn't move her mouth from Trixie's pussy either. It feels awkward and she’s sure it makes her look grotesque, but she just wants more and more of Trixie. 

"You're so greedy, Katya," Trixie groans down at her, “My greedy bitch.”

Apparently, the sign of Katya gorging herself is enough to make Trixie want to come again, and she draws her knees up to brace her feet on the bed and tangles her fingers in Katya's hair. 

After a few more minutes, Trixie is screwing her clit into Katya's nose and mouth. 

"God, you're desperate for me today. You can't get enough," she hisses.

Katya groans her agreement.

Trixie takes an even harder grip of Katya's hair and starts to pull it insistently, "I can feel your hair is stiff with my piss. You're disgusting. I shouldn't even be letting you lick me with my piss in your hair. I shouldn’t even let you near me."

The rational part of Katya knows that it's a trick of Trixie's mind. She barely missed a drop, it must be either hair product or ice-cream that Trixie can feel. But the part of Katya that is deeply in thrall to Trixie’s words just whines and wiggles her hips against the bed as Trixie continues to berate her. She pushes her face into Trixie, mumbling _‘more, more, more’_ as best as she can with her mouth wide open and tongue out. 

By the time Trixie comes for a second time, Katya can barely remember her own name.

Trixie pulls her up and into her arms, "How do you want to come?"

"Hurt me. Hit me," breathes Katya.

Trixie grins like a demon, "How would you like me to hurt you, baby?"

Katya can't remember the words she wants, the words that Trixie gives her to choose from when she asks that question. Absurdly, from the depths of her brain she remembers the word onomatopoeia and she remembers that the word she wants is onomatopoeic, but she can’t recall the word itself. She imitates what she wants on her own hand, letting her fist fall heavily into her other hand. 

"You want a thuddy pain?"

Katya nods enthusiastically.

Trixie walks over to the wooden chest that now contains their pooled toy collection. 

Trixie crosses the bedroom with their newest purchase, a suede flogger with a wooden handle. They'd found it in an independent sex toy boutique that they'd read about on a sex-blog, then taken three different Tube lines across the city to get to.

Trixie stands on the bed, the mattress sinking under her strong legs. 

Trixie swishes it through the air to practice. The late afternoon air in the flat is still warm, and Katya can smell the leather on the air. It makes Katya’s hips shift in the sheets. 

The tails of the flogger are wide and fat, it’s not unlike the head of a mop. They're a gorgeous plum colour, and even just the sight of Trixie gently swishing the flogger back and forth stimulates Katya enough that she can feel the wetness seeping out between her labia and onto the sheets underneath. 

Trixie draws it back and forth over Katya's face. As it swipes across her cheekbones and nose, it feels as though each tail is giving her a kiss. The smell of the leather gets more intense and Katya breathes it in more deeply. Trixie trails the flogger down lower over Katya's chest and sternum, and she arches her back up into it. Trixie moves it lower still, letting the soft tails graze her ribs. 

Trixie picks the flogger up above her head and slowly brings it down on to Katya's thighs, letting gravity do most of the work. The pain isn't the sort of stinging pain that feels like it's purifying Katya's brain with fire. Instead, it's a deeper, more insistent pain. The rhythmic blows are grounding her. In the bathroom she had felt like she could float away, but now Trixie is slowly and methodically tethering her back down. Trixie waits a few seconds between each blow, bringing the suede steadily and slowly back down onto Katya’s skin. Katya paces her breaths to match it, and each heavy thud feels like a caring hand pressing her into the bed. 

Trixie is careful only to bring the flogger down on areas where she won't accidentally hit any of Katya’s organs. When she feels like she's done with Katya's front, she instructs Katya to roll over. 

Katya lies with her arms fixed at her sides as Trixie flogs her again and again, over her arse and the backs of her thighs. 

Over time the dull pain builds until every part of Katya is throbbing. Every thump from the flogger, every heavy blow, settles into Katya’s body and resounds through it. She feels like a heavy bell being struck. The word, ‘campanology’ floats into her head but Trixie’s next blow beats it back out. Burning tears dribble from the corners of Katya's scrunched eyes into the sheets before she can even process that she's crying. 

Trixie ignores her tears and the flogger continues to rain down on Katya. Her groaning gets louder. God, she hopes has she bruises tomorrow. 

Trixie stops and kneels down clumsily next to Katya, after almost over balancing on the soft mattress. 

"You okay, cariad?" Trixie asks. 

Katya nods into the pillow. Katya grins against the cotton with her full set of teeth, “I’m _awesome_ ”. 

"You need to come now?" 

Katya nods desperately. 

The handle of the flogger is a dark, burnished wood. In the shop, Katya had stood for ages running her hands around the width of it.

"I don't know why you're inspecting that bit so closely. I doubt you'll ever hold it unless you're passing it to me," Trixie had joked, loud enough for the sales assistant to hear. 

Katya had flushed bright pink, and Trixie had smiled at Katya in growing realisation of what she’d wanted. 

They hadn’t actually played with the handle in that way yet, but Katya's legs splay open at just the thought of it. 

Trixie murmurs, “You want me to fuck you with the handle of _my_ flogger? You think you’ve earned that?”

Trixie drags the wood down over Katya's clit and grinds it into her to make her hiss and jump. 

Katya nods frantically.

“You really think I’d let you get one of my best tools dirty?” Trixie asks.

Katya whines, “Please. Please, Mistress.” 

When she’s had enough of making Katya squirm, Trixie brings it lower and gently screws the blunt end against Katya’s entrance. Trixie grabs some lube and squirts it over the wood before pressing it inwards. 

The thick handle is a stretch for Katya, and its hardness makes it seem even wider. She pants with the strain of taking it in to her body. 

"That's it. Good girl, Katya. You've taken everything I have to give you tonight," Trixie whispers.

The coaxing works for Katya, and she undulates her hips up and down on the handle. She grits her teeth as she works for it, flexing the muscles in her thighs. 

Trixie brings her other hand to Katya's clit. She drizzles another layer of lube over Katya’s vulva and starts rubbing in featherlight circles. Katya keeps moving her hips, caught between pushing up into Trixie's fingertips and down onto the unforgiving wood handle.

Trixie angles the handle a bit differently and it forces itself a little deeper into Katya, hitting something painfully deep within her. The pain forces her over the edge, and Katya shudders on the bed. Her toes twitch and she fists her hands in the bedsheets, crying out for "Mistress, oh, Trixie, oh!" 

Trixie keeps her hands still, lets Katya keep gently rocking between them as the sensations ebb away. Katya eventually stops moving, instead letting herself sag backwards into the sheets. 

"You were astounding," Trixie coos, bending over to kiss Katya deeply. Katya lets herself be bundled up into Trixie’s arms, shuffling down the bed so she can rest her face in between Trixie’s soft breasts. She smells like sweat, leather, and the eco-friendly detergent that Katya buys mostly so she can hear Trixie mutter, “Why don’t you just fucking run off and join Greenpeace?” under her breath every time she gets it out of the cupboard.


End file.
